


ten thousand hours

by unrem



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, M/M, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, they go to NYU because i binge watched two seasons of broad city
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-23 09:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrem/pseuds/unrem
Summary: or: how Keith and Lance inevitably fell for each other, hard.





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> for britney (my gay role model/gay big sis by choice)  
> thank you for everything :")
> 
>  
> 
> edit 15/07/2017  
> i decided to restructure this a lil bit... if you've read the last chapters (prologue, september, october) then just skip to the part subtitled 'november' :)  
> edit 20/08/2017  
> i figured out how i'm gonna chapter this i'm sorry i'm a hot mess :(  
> i'm sorry all the comments were deleted! ao3 couldn't save them but just know that i really valued them :"(

_you shall love your crooked neighbour_ _  
_ _with your crooked heart_

\-- W.H. AUDEN

 

Lance inherited from his mother every trait, except those that he felt would have made him worthwhile. Early pictures taken in Cuba and later in Florida with over-exposure and white edges blurring her brown, shining skin showed the intensity of her features. There was no delicacy in her sharp nose, her large smile and crooked teeth.

“This son of mine,” he heard her say once, when he was younger. Aunt Josefina was over, and it was hot-- not spectacularly so for July in Miami suburbs-- though they didn’t have an air-conditioning back then; they didn’t have much at all, truly. “is a smart boy. He’ll do what’s right. He’s such a good boy.”

Lance remembered crinkling his forehead, slim eyebrows drawn together in confusion as he stared at the side of her head from around the corner. She looked down, smiled softly, and drew in a long, laboured breath.

“He’s a giver, you see,” she told Aunt Josefina, “He’s a giver, and he’ll find himself a giver, too, someday. He needs a _giver_.” She looked up at the crucifix on the wall, next to framed pictures of her husband and children.

The reason Lance remembered this moment so clearly is because of what happened next. His mother sobbed, childishly and loudly, snot dribbling from her ski-slope nose down to her chin.

“I’m sorry,” she exhaled in a rasped breath, to no one in particular, “I’m _sorry_.”

Lance let his head hit the wall behind him and closed his eyes. His mother’s sniffles and shortened breaths were soon drowned out by his little sister’s cries in the living room, then his mother’s shuffling to get to her; she was still breastfeeding her, then.

Lance followed her, watching her pick up the baby and cradle it.

“She’s so loud,” he complained to her, “It hurts my ears.”

The baby didn’t care-- they never do-- and, it seems just because the universe always loved to make Lance’s life somehow _worse_ , cried even louder; a single shrill note.

Outside, a police siren rang. It dimmed his mother’s calming, soothing singing to the child in her arms temporarily.

“A person can stand just about anything for ten to fifteen minutes,” his mother replied sternly. Her head was held high, shoulders back and spine straightened. There was no sign of her previous sobbing only minutes, _seconds_ ago. It had always seemed to Lance that all her emotions could bottled up immediately, and stored safely in the back of a closet in her brain; _danger,_  it would be labelled, _do_ _not_ _open, emotional trauma (see: fleeing with a single suitcase) inside_.

Lance mastered an equally impressive feat: he’d learned to hide away his feelings at an early age, ever since his _asshole_ cousin had told him to ‘ _man-up and quit crying!’_

Though, he wasn’t as good as his mother was. Lance carried his heart on his sleeve.

 

This was an undisputable fact of life proven most days, especially afternoons and evenings and hours between lectures spent with Hunk and Pidge. He’d spend them moaning about girls and boys he’d completely, utterly fallen for far too quickly, like he fell asleep; slowly, and then all at once.

Today was one of those days. Walking with a spring in his step into the cafeteria, Lance spied Hunk’s the back of broad shoulders and square skull beside Pidge’s tiny, far too round head and small body. He hit a palm to the centre of Hunk’s back, prompting him to choke on a dry bacon sandwich, and ruffling Pidge’s unruly hair.

Hunk swallowed large gulps of Sprite and hit a fist to his sternum, gasping. Pidge dug their nails into Lance’s hand. Lance whimpered.

“I’m in _love_.”

Pidge rolled their eyes.

“You fall in love with some poor kid all the time,” they said, not looking up from their laptop and ignoring Lance’s protests of ‘ _we’re the same age!_ ’, “and they all look the same. They’re all tan and sweaty, and any tan in New York is fake, and any girl who fake tans is conceited and bougie. Any boy who fake tans is ridiculous.”

Lance closed his open mouth and sat down beside them.

“You’re so cynical,” Hunk said.

“I’m not cynical,” Pidge said.

“Yeah, you are.”

“You’re only saying that because _you_ have a girlfriend.”

“Hey! You _like_ Shay!”

Lance clears his throat. “Ex-squeeze me, back to _me_ , please,” he announced.

Pidge hunched over their laptop again. Hunk took a sip of his Sprite, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to Lance.

“So,” he asked Lance, “Who’s the lucky-- uh… girl? Guy? Whatever. Who is it this time?”

“I resent your tone, my big hunk of love. I don’t know his name, but he’s gorgeous, he’s smart, and he’s in my history class, and he sits all the way at the front and _honey_ , I have been staring at the back of his head _a-l-l_ morning.” Lance sighed, rested his chin in the palm of hand and swooned.

Hunk swallowed loudly. Detaching his lips from his can, he grinned shakily.

“That’s great, buddy,” he said, “So-- uh-- you… you don’t… you don’t know his name, but… you’re in love--”

“Yeah!”

“Great,” Pidge monotoned.

“What?” asked Lance.

“Nothing,” she responded.

“No, tell me.”

“ _Fine_ ,” they exhaled, as if it were extraordinarily difficult to do so, “You’re being ridiculous. You-- you keep quote-unquote ‘falling in love’ with literal strangers and it’s-- I don’t know, I just don’t want you getting hurt again.”

It was as clear as day that Pidge was talking about what happened that summer. Lance had planned to move in with his then-girlfriend, only to have her break-up with him via text on his _birthday_ , leaving Lance homeless and heartbroken in July of that year.

‘Sorry,’ she had told him, ‘You-- I mean, we were moving too fast, I guess. I guess we’re not on the same page, or something.’

She was the kind of girl who guessed a lot. Hunk never liked people who guessed a lot.

“Whatever,” Lance said, “That’s in the past. I’ve learnt my lesson, but mark my words, I _will_ get his number, and then we’ll get married on the beach and have a big house with a white picket fence. And I want two cats and maybe a dog.”

Pidge sighed. Hunk laughed.

 

When Lance arrived in his college dorm freshman year, his mother had told him while unpacking that university would be harder than expected, and certainly harder than high school, and reminded him that he could come home, if he wanted to. He could work at his uncle’s restaurant and continue to wait tables and dog-- and babysit on the side.

There was nothing wrong with coming home instead of living in ‘the city’, as she called it; living in New York City, far away from Floridan suburbs. Lance had felt unsettled hearing that, since his mother had sort of pressured him to going to college in the first place; children of first generation immigrants, only second in his family to higher education and all that.

Walking across campus on a Thursday morning, Lance thought of his mother’s advice and realised once again, how she _really_ is _always_ right. His spine ached under the weight of his textbooks in his backpack as he walked up the concrete stairs, orange leaves crunching under his feet as he took two steps at a time. Students huddled on the sidewalk and sat on the benches before the building, a sort of microcosm in the middle of Manhattan.

Lance walked past them and pushed through the doors: he was late, as expected. He hated being the first to arrive in class and made it a habit to be the last. It made him feel important, seeing as class usually started seconds after he entered the room: the party don’t start ‘till I walk in. It also gave him the incredibly vital opportunity to look around the seats, eyeing the most attractive person in the room like a hawk.

Fixing his hair chalantly (or so he liked to think) and walking into his new _favourite_ history class, that person had to be his future-husband. He liked to be punctual, unlike Lance, and sat at the front. Those dark, reflective eyes concentrated on the laptop in front of him. His eyebrows were wild and furrowed, mouth turned down at the corners as he focused on typing something that seemed incredibly important.

Lance let the hand he had raised in a little wave fall dejectedly, and slid into a chair at the back of the table.

Just then-- _bingo!_ \-- the professor walked in, an old man named Dr. Woodward. He walked slowly and breathed even slower, and loudly. He only had one lung. Lance _adored_ him, even if he was cranky and strict. Lance was always terrified he would die before he reached the podium.

‘You might be smart,’ he told the class during the introductory seminar, ‘But I have been smart longer.’

The brevity and wit of the statement was solid proof of it for Lance.

“The… history… of bioethics...  and medical… experimentation,” Woodward exhaled, “Is unlike… any other.”

Lance usually paid attention in his classes (even the morning ones) but for some inexplicable reason, his mind wandered to all sorts of thoughts. Perhaps it wasn’t inexplicable, though. Perhaps it was just because the single hottest human Lance had ever seen sat in the front of the class, all pouty lips, pale skin, dark hair and incredibly bad posture,   _Jesus_.

Seconds spent glancing at the boy turned into minutes, then half an hour into class, the boy raised a tired, sweatshirt covered arm just as Lance took a sip of his berry smoothie. The sleeve brushed against the boy’s fingertips, it was far too large on him and masked his surprisingly broad and strong shoulders and arms; _what a shame_ , thought Lance.

“Ah… yes, Keith?” Woodward asked.

_Bingo!_

Lance choked on his mouthful of berry smoothie; he’d gotten a name, sure, but _damn it_ \----

“You okay?” his neighbour asked.

Lance merely nodded and tried to breathe normally again. In all the noise he’d caused with his choking and spluttering, the boy-- no, _Keith_ \-- had given him a long look before actually _laughing_.

The embarrassment Lance had felt was worth the beautiful sight and sound that was Keith smiling and laughing.

 

Thursday was also (apparently) Hunk and Shay’s date night, as Lance remembered when he leaned his entire body weight on his and Hunk’s shared dorm door and, with a shove, opened it.

Hunched before an ironing board, Hunk attacked a pale yellow button down shirt. Sweat dribbled down his forehead as he vigorously pushed the iron up and down the length of a sleeve.

“It’s-- date night,” he explained, “It’s an emergency. Shay’s parents are in town.” He paused to catch his breath. “Do you,” a sharp inhale, “Know how to iron?”

Lance let his backpack drop to the floor and walked towards the board. The shirt looked as wrinkled as an old woman who spent too much time sunbathing.

“Hunk, honey,” Lance said, “I have _four_ _siblings_ : of course I know how to iron. Give me that.” He gripped it, adjusted his legs to have a more stable footing, and ran it over the shirt with an effortless movement that could only be rooted in experience.

“Thank you,” fawned Hunk, “You’re an angel. I don’t smell like weed, right? I’m so nervous, I had to have a quick smoke.”

Lance took a whiff. “Nah,” he said, “You’re good, buddy. Here you go.”

He handed Hunk his shirt, who put it on. Hunk matched it with a pale blue tie, with little white polka dots. His large fingers nimbly threaded it into a perfect knot (one of the many benefits of being raised by two dads was Hunk’s amazing ability to tie a tie) as Lance fell into bed.

“Good?” Hunk asked, smoothing it over with his hands.

Lance looked up, leaning on his elbows. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah-- you look great.”

Hunk grinned, then paused. “Hey,” he said in a worried, soft tone, “You okay, buddy?”

Lance shrugged, settling back onto his pillow and crossing his arms. Hunk sat on the edge of his mattress, dipping it.

“You look sad,” he continued. He moved closer, palm resting beside Lance’s thigh as he hovered over him. “Did you-- um-- did you get rejected again?”

Lance sniffed.

“The--- the guy, um… that guy I like in my history class? I-- uh-- found out his name. His name is _Keith_.”

Hunk blinked blankly at him.

“Keith?” he asked Lance.

“Yeah, Keith. _Keith_? C’mon, that’s the ugliest name I’ve ever heard!”

Hunk laughed. “That’s-- is _that_ why you’re upset?”

Lance sniffed again. “I mean, it’s unfair. He’s so attractive it’s distracting, and it makes me angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yeah, angry.”

“Why?”

Lance shrugged, then rolled over to lie on his side. Staring at his crucifix on his nightstand, he mumbled, “It’s _unfair_.”

Hunk sighed. He placed a warm, soft hand on Lance’s back and rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“That’ll be Shay,” Hunk said. His voice was warm, too. “You gonna be okay tonight?”

Lance nodded. “You go,” he told Hunk, who nodded before standing and opening the door.

Lance had seen Shay a lot of times, and he liked her a lot, since her smile always reached her eyes, and when she laughed, her whole body moved with it.

“Hey!” she greeting, stepping into the room with a wave, “Hey, Lance! Nice to see you, how you been?”

Lance sat up in his bed and watched her give Hunk a kiss on the cheek. _God_ , she was _adorable_. Her strapless summer dress was covered in a flowery, pale pattern, and had plenty of ruffles. Lance could not imagine an outfit that would fit her kind, warm personality better than this one. It complemented Hunk’s shirt perfectly, too.

“Fine,” Lance sighed melodramatically.

“Boy trouble,” mouthed Hunk. Shay’s mouth stretched downwards on one side, her eyes widened and her eyebrows raised.

“Right,” she sighed, “That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that, you don’t deserve that. You’re a great guy, Lance: _really_.”

Lance smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes like Shay’s did. “Thanks,” he said, and he meant it.

“We’ve-- um… we actually have to go, but-- hey, we should all hang out soon!” Shay exclaimed.

“Yeah!” Hunk agreed, “Dude, we should _so_ go bowling or something.”

Lance laughed. “Even after what happened last time?”

“What happened last time?” Shay asked.

Hunk inhaled a slow breath. “We don’t talk about what happened last time,” he said: dead serious.

Shay tilted her head in confusion, utterly endearing as always.

“I get competitive, sue me,” Lance explained, and Shay laughed, a gorgeous sound. Hunk’s eyebrows crinkled fondly as he watched her, eyes full of love. “If you guys don’t get going, you’ll get caught in traffic, so I’ll-- uh-- yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye,” Shay said, leaning down to give Lance a hug. Hunk squeezed him too, and as he watched them leave, Lance couldn’t help but feel a strange type of nostalgia. He wondered if this is what it felt like to have your parents tuck you in bed and leave for date night as a child.

Grabbing his phone out of his pocket, Lance turned on his side and squinted into the glare of the screen. He wished for that strange yearning to disappear. Growing up without a father probably brought on a whole lot of issues for him, but he didn’t like to think about it. Those emotions were stored neatly in the back of his mind, buried deep.

He swiped to the left and hovered his thumb over Tinder. It _would_ be a good distraction, and he loved reading through the endless compliments he received (his profile was _flawless_ ) and screenshotting the weird ones.

He opened the app-- _here we go!_ \-- and ended up falling down the rabbit hole soon enough, falling asleep mid-sext with a mildly attractive business major sophomore from Columbia.

 

The next morning, Lance woke up alone. Hunk must have stayed over at Shay’s, for he only saw him midday outside the main campus. Squeezed beside Pidge and Shay on a bench, Hunk was sipping a soda, reading and half-heartedly listening to Pidge and Shay’s discussion about their robotics seminar.

“Hey, Lance,” Pidge greeted him, “You know, you could do worse than Keith.”

“Hunk!” Lance shrieked, “You told the _gremlin_?”

Hunk spit out his soda. “Was I not supposed to?”

Lance perched himself on Hunk’s lap. “Dude, your ass is _bony_ ,” Hunk laughed, “‘S like a bag of remotes or something.”

“Shut up,” Lance whined, wrapping an arm around Hunk’s shoulder.

“Look, there he is!” Pidge exclaimed, pointing a finger at the main door. Lance whipped his head around so fast and with such force that his body followed. He fell out of Hunk’s lap and onto cold, wet concrete.

“Shit!” Lance whispered. He stood quickly, wiping his ass to get rid of the wet leaves. “ _Please_ tell me he didn’t see that,” he whined. All Lance could see was the back of Keith’s black hoodie and the side of his pretty head, dark eyes glancing at their bench at the loud sounds Pidge, Hunk and Shay’s laughter produced.

“Oh, he _saw_ ,” Pidge cackled, “Dude, you got it bad,” they stated sadly, as though it were a tragedy.

“I think it’s sweet,” Shay cooed, “The guy was in my creative writing class last semester. He was pretty nice, once you got past the whole… bad boy thing he’s got going on.”

“Bad boy thing?” Pidge asked.

“Yeah,” Shay said, “He’s got a motorcycle and wears leather jackets, that sort of thing. Plus that _hair_ , oh my _God_ ,” she laughed.

“Yeah, Lance,” Pidge teased, “I can’t believe you like a guy with a mullet.”

“Really, though, he could do worse than Keith,” Hunk said.

“And, for the record, he has.”

“ _Pidge!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll try and update as fast as i can!
> 
> comments keep me motivated and are always appreciated <3 ;)


	2. October

As the leaves turned from bright orange to a dark brown and fell to the grey concrete sidewalk, Lance decided it was time for a change in his life, too. Come the first Thursday of the month, Lance arrived to that fateful history class seven minutes early-- the earliest he’s ever come to any class ever-- _just_ to move seats. He was one of the first students to arrive-- even Keith wasn’t there yet-- and so, he slid into the chair near the front of the classroom, diagonal from Keith.

Palms sweating and foot tapping a restless tattoo, Lance unpacked his things, raising his eyes to the door lightening fast every time it opened, somehow hoping it would be Keith. After two whole minutes, it _was_ him.

Wearing their college sweatshirt in a disgusting shade of purple (that he, _of course,_ somehow made look _good_ ), Keith trudged in. He glanced at Lance with something akin to surprise before lowering his eyes quickly to the ground, as though he were embarrassed. The thought of Keith being embarrassed because of _him_ nearly made Lance laugh, it was that obscure and ridiculous.

Keith slid into his usual chair, put his laptop on his desk, and typed away. Lance stared at him.

It occurred to Lance that this was the first time he _really_ got a look at Keith. Lance saw how he had faded acne scars on his cheeks (a little memento from his teen years, Lance supposed), how his eyebrows were not only thick but brushed into all sorts of directions, how his mouth was always slightly parted, and how his teeth were tinted yellow and not entirely straight. He was gorgeous, Lance thought; absolutely perfect. His entire body seemed to seamlessly curve from one part to the other; from his broad shoulders to his sharp collarbone peaking out from his sweatshirt, from his pale neck to his prominent cupid’s bow, up to his nose and those dark, round, large eyes--

Keith looked up, locked eyes with Lance.

Lance thought he was dying-- _God_ , that _stare--_ and suddenly, he was sure he wasn’t breathing and that his face was bright red.

Keith blinked-- lips still parted, gaze unreadable-- before looking down to his laptop screen once more. Lance sunk his teeth into his lower lip and hunched his shoulders, suddenly acutely aware of Keith’s presence. Something about how all of Keith’s attention was, for one spectacular second, drawn to _Lance_ made his skin crawl; for better or worse.

 

The week after that, wondered whether he should sit in his old or new seat but, after remembering life was short, he decided for the latter, sliding in the chair across from Keith again.

This time, he swore it was Keith who caught a glance at him. Mid-lecture, Lance copied a diagram Dr. Woodward drew on the whiteboard behind him with trembling, wrinkly fingers. He toyed with the pen between his fingers before letting it rest between his lips, biting on it ever-so slightly. Feeling eyes bore into his skull, he looked to the side, only to see Keith looking at _him_ ; slouching over the table, body turned towards him instead of (as usual) Dr. Woodward.

Lance watched Keith for a moment. He’s beautiful, Lance thought, he’s absolutely----

With a clatter, his pen fell out of his grasp and onto the linoleum floor.

“Shit,” hissed Lance, reaching down for it. It had slid under the table, close to Keith’s feet.

“Sorry,” he whispered across to him, “Um-- I, uh-- I dropped my pen, and it’s-- it rolled-- yeah, could you get it for me?”

Keith stared blankly at him as though he were speaking an entirely different language.

“Yeah,” Keith replied, “Uh-- yeah, sure.”

He ducked under the table and grabbed it.

“Here,” Keith said quietly, handing it to Lance over the table. Their fingers brushed against each other. Keith’s pale hand was warm and softer than expected. Maybe Keith was softer than expected, too, Lance wondered.

“Thanks,” Lance replied and bit at the side of his thumb; the thumb that had touched _Keith’s_ palm was now in _his mouth_.

Lance furrowed his brow, dropped his hand to the desk and let his lips stretch into a thin line, desperately trying to concentrate on what his thirty thousand dollar tuition paid for and _not_ distractingly pretty boys.

 

It was exceedingly difficult to try and forget the feeling of Keith’s skin against Lance’s; zero layers between them.

Lying on Hunk’s bed the next afternoon, Lance let his Nintendo rest on his chest: Animal Crossing would have to wait. He turned his head to gauze Hunk’s reaction as he said, “Hey, you know-- Keith and I held hands yesterday.”

Hunk looked up from his magazine. “You _what_?” he asked.

“I mean, technically. I dropped a pen and he handed it to me,” Lance explained, sighing happily just at the thought.

Hunk snorted.

“Damn,” he said, “You really do have it bad.”

Lance bit his thumb.

“Don’t I know it. I was so close, though.”

“Close to what?” Hunk asked.

Lance shrugged. “Dunno,” he said, “Talking to him, getting his number, letting the _charme de Lance_ do its magic?”

Hunk laughed, loudly. The bed shook with the force of it.

“Sure, buddy,” Hunk replied, “You’ll get there: maybe next time you’ll both go the same water fountain and he’ll propose.”

“Ha, ha,” deadpanned Lance, “Very funny.” He turned his attention back to his village, half-heartedly walking around it before eventually sighing once more, saving the game and tossing his DS beside him. “This is so sad. What happened to me? It’s a Friday night and I’m--”

“Dude, it’s like… five p.m.”

“Whatever. It’s a Friday and I’m just… lying in bed.”

“Hey, lying in bed is great!” Hunk exclaimed.

Lance swung his legs off the bed. “I mean, in moderation, _yeah_. Still, it’s a Friday. Is there-- is there no party or something?” he mumbled, grabbing his phone and scrolling through his feeds.

Hunk shrugged. “Dunno,” he said, “Ask around, or whatever. I’m feeling pretty lazy, so--”

“Bingo!” Lance interrupted, “Allura’s law firm is throwing a party. We’re going: I’ve just decided. Get dressed, dude.”

“What? Lance, you know I’m meeting Shay for acai bowls tomorrow morning, I really don’t feel like--”

“It’s a rooftop party,” sang Lance. Hunk paused.

“So…,” he asked, fiddling with his thumbs and looking coy, “What should I wear?”

“It’s in SoHo, man! We gotta go shopping,” Lance announced, standing before the closet and rummaging through it, “I mean, for you; not for me, _obviously_ . I’ve got an _appropriate_ outfit.”

 

Lance chose blue jeans he knew made his ass look _good_ and a white, soft V-neck t-shirt, showing off the brown, smooth, moisturised skin of his throat and collar. He put on the knockoff big golden watch he’d bought on the street and his best kicks (pristine white, a Christmas present) for good measure.

The shoes were probably a bad idea, Lance realised as he crossed the street with Hunk. New York was muddy and dirty, and not _great_ for anything white in general, but Lance looked so fly and felt so _sexy_ he couldn’t care less. Humming, he linked arms with Hunk.

“I think tonight’s gonna be really good,” he told him, “It feels important, y’know?”

Hunk laughed, texting with one hand, the other stuffed in the pocket of his worn cargo shorts. “Dude, are you sure you haven’t done any pre-drinking?”

“None, ‘Lura said drinks are free, _duh_. Her firm is, like, crazy fancy. Hey, who you texting?” he asked, peering into the glare of the cracked screen.

“Shay. ‘m inviting her, maybe she’ll be fucked to come.”

“Lit!” Lance said, “God, I love that girl.”

“Um, Shay is a beautiful, smart, strong, independent _woman_ , and far more than I deserve.”

“Funny, she pretty much said the same about you.”

Hunk beamed. “Really?” he asked, bouncing in his step.

“Yeah, no shit!” Lance laughed, “Dude, couples are _weird_.”

Hunk shrugged. Opening the door to an expensive, pristine store, he said, “I dunno, I just really like her, man. I like her so much it’s crazy.”

Lance browsed through railings of soft fabrics. “Do you think she’s the one?”

Hunk grinned like a maniac, all pearly whites. “Maybe,” he said, “I think so, yeah. I, uh… I wanna move in with her next year.”

Lance felt his jaw drop. The clothing rack he held in his hands was lowered as he stared at Hunk. Hunk fidgeted.

“Wow,” Lance breathed, “I mean, _wow_. That’s, uh--- that’s great! Congrats, dude.” A smile stretched his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned his attention back to the clothing in front of him.

Hunk was silent for a long while, simply accepting and carrying the outfits Lance plucked off the railing for him.

“You’re not… you’re not mad or anything, right?” Hunk asked carefully.

Lance tried his best to grin at him. “Nah,” Lance replied, “I’m happy for you, really.”

“Still… you’re gonna… I mean, are you gonna live alone? Pidge’s staying at her brother’s place, Allura is... Allura. She’s got that swanky penthouse shit with Shiro so… what about you?”

Lance paused. “I mean, it’s about time I get my own place, right?”

“I guess…” mumbled Hunk.

“It’s time for me to be an adult. Before I know it I’m gonna wake up and be twenty three!” Lance exclaimed, arms outstretched.

“Dude, you know I’m twenty five, right?”

“Hunk, that’s different. You’re ageless. It’s a different thing.”

 

Hunk did a little spin as he stepped out of the changing room.

“Dude, your ass looks incredible!” Lance said from his seat in front of it, “And your head and body too, duh.”

“Thanks,” replied Hunk before turning around to grab his old clothing from the changing room.

“But we all know who’s the real star of the show,” Lance whispered to Hunk’s behind. He winked at it, too.

“ _Lance_!” Hunk’s tone was incredulous, but he still grinned triumphantly.

 

“That’ll be three hundred and sixty five dollars,” the woman at the cash register told Hunk. Hunk fiddled with his credit card. Lance stood behind him.

“Wow,” he exhaled, “That’s… that’s real. You know what? It’s good.” He handed over his card, nearly wincing at the sound of the transaction.

“Let me ask, what’s your return policy?” Lance intercepted.

“It’s twenty days,” was the answer as the woman handed over Hunk’s clothes.

“Great,” Hunk announced, “I’ll see you in ten, then.”

Lance high fived him before walking away,  their feet loud on hardwood floor.

“B-i-i-i-t-c-h,” Lance announced, “My dude, _you_ are bad and bougie!” Hunk cheered with him.

“Sir?” the woman interrupted, “You forgot to sign your receipt.”

 

Most of the stories Lance had heard about Allura ended with, ‘ _I mean, can you believe it?_ ’ and Lance couldn’t more often than not, but they always proved true.

The law firm she worked at was incredibly expensive, and Lance felt out of place in his jeans-- even if his ass _did_ look amazing-- since all the men wore designer suits, and all the women tight, short cocktail dresses. Lance fixed his hair nervously and followed Hunk, who used his large build to push through the crowd like a bulldozer. They beelined to the bar.

“Hi,” Lance shouted to the bartender, “Can we get, uh… tequila shots?” he asked Hunk. Hunk looked terrified. Tequila fucked Lance up like nothing else did. “Nevermind. I’ll just have a long island.”

“Right away,” replied the bartender, pulling a glass from under the bar before turning and working his magic. Lance leaned over the bar and grinned.

“This is, like, _so_ fancy,” Hunk told Lance loudly over the music, “Where’s Allura?”

Lance shrugged and graciously took his drink with a swave ‘ _Thank you, gorgeous_ ,’ before following Hunk and walking around the rooftop. The dim lights of the lanterns didn’t help, until Hunk spotted white, textured hair and smooth, black skin in the crowd.

“Hey!” he shouted, “‘Lura!”

Allura turned, arm linked with Shiro. Takashi Shirogane was unfairly beautiful in his evening wear; just like Allura, so Lance figured they were a pretty good match. Two successful, smart, driven people, but they balanced each other out, too. Shiro was a gentle soul and calmed Allura down, and Allura gave Shiro the confidence and ambition he sometimes lacked.

Grinning, Lance accepted a hug from both.

“Hi,” Allura said with a wide smile, “How are you doing? This place is _so_ nice, right?”

“Totally,” Hunk replied, “This is some dresscode shit, I’m lucky I went shopping.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said, “We can tell. You left the tag on.”

“ _Um_ ,” Lance interrupted, “We can’t all be successful young professionals. Bitch, we gon’ return that shit.”

Allura laughed. Shiro looked incredibly embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t-- yeah.” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“Shay’s coming soon,” Hunk told them, changing the subject (bless his amazing people skills).

“Great!” Allura said, “That sounds fun. I haven’t seen her in far too long, ever since I had to bail on our crossfit sessions ever since she started volunteering at the shelter. Our schedules clashed.”

“Great,” Lance groaned, “It’s mom and dad date night again. Am I the only single person in the whole goddamn party?” he whined. Looking around, he could only single out couples swaying together to the loud music.

“Nah,” Shiro replied, “Don’t be so dramatic. You just gotta get back out there. I’m sure we can hook you up with someone; right, Allura?”

Allura bit her bottom lip and spun her champagne glass between her thumb and forefinger.

“I mean,” she said, “Sure, yeah…”

She didn’t sound too hopeful. Lance glared at her, playfully sticking his tongue out at her before taking a long sip of his drink.

“There’s a guy at my gym who’s a student,” Shiro told him, “He’s gay and single as fuck, man. I invited him here, maybe he showed up. He’s kind of a hermit, but he’s sweet. I think you’d get along.”

“Wow,” Lance drawled sarcastically, “I’m _swooning_.”

“Over whom this time?” a voice asked from behind them.

“Shay!” Hunk was beaming, engulfing her in his arms and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“You look great,” Lance complemented, reaching out to hug her after Hunk released her, “I’m loving this whole pastel flower girl vibe.” Her pale pink dress was covered in large, blue and yellow flowers.

“Thanks,” Shay replied, “Had to leave the tag on, though. Fifty dollars, man…”

Shiro inhaled slowly, raised his eyebrows and looked away with wide, shocked eyes.

“It’s good to see you, thanks for coming,” Allura told her, “Do you guys want to go to the bar? I’ve got some networking to do with Shiro, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Sure,” Hunk said, “C’mon, they make _fancy_ cocktails.”

“O-o-o-h,” Shay replied, “With little umbrellas?”

“ _Duh_ , lawyers got them big bucks, baby. Hey, Lance; you comin’?”

Lance remained rooted to the ground, leaning against the railing and staring out into the crowd with a distant look on his face.

“Nah,” he said, “You guys go ahead.”

“If you say so,” Hunk replied, disappearing into the mass with Shay.

Alone, and a little embarrassed, Lance decided to get roaring drunk. He drowned his long island, drowned a complimentary champagne glass offered by the catering, and ate a canape.

Lance watched the lack of variety the crowd provided; all working professionals (save for Lance, Hunk, and Shay), and all happy couples (save for Lance). He suddenly felt terribly alone, even though he was surrounded with other people.

Staring ahead, his vision began to blur. Yellow lanterns formed golden, glowing dots; people converged into a blackish, dark mess. It was as though someone had ran a cloth over an oil painting before it had dried, merging the colours into one.

Then; _Keith_.

Keith, with his arms crossed and wearing black jeans that had a hole at the knee, stood on the other side of the roof. He leaned against a brick wall and sipped at a beer bottle.

A mirage, an oasis clear as day.

Lance blinked; once, twice, and _yeah, still there_.

Shiro walked up to Keith, talking to him. Keith laughed and tucked his hair behind his ear. They must know each other, or something, but Lance wouldn’t be surprised if Keith was dating one of the lawyers here. Someone as gorgeous and strong as Allura, who just nipped off to the ladies’ room.

 _Yeah_ , Lance thought, Keith wasn’t single. He couldn’t be.Smart, good looking people like that are never single, and even if they are, they don’t go for someone like Lance.

Bouncing off the railing he was leaning against, Lance stepped into the crowd once more; towards the bar, feeling more alone that he had in a long time.

Suddenly, he found himself missing his ex-girlfriend, the boy he hooked up with months ago, the Columbia student he sexted with. He found himself missing someone to hold in his arms, someone to laugh with; like Shiro and Allura, Shay and Hunk, and Keith and his mystery lawyer girlfriend.

Since the day Lance was born, he was looking out for love and never really found the one, but they say practice makes perfect, and Lance deserved to be _loved, goddamn it_ \--

He knocked back a tequila shot.

 

Hungover the next morning, Lance dragged himself to class on Friday, but not before stopping at the nearest grocer’s-- the Whole Food’s on Union Square-- for some hangover curing food. The light blinded him so much he stepped inside still wearing his sunglasses; and last night’s outfit.

After perusing through aisles of overpriced goods-- _four dollars for a zucchini?_ \-- Lance eventually settled on an expensive kale smoothie, a banana, and some dried seaweed.

Standing in line at the register, Lance cracked his neck; lunch time rush meant long lines. Lance groaned and rubbed his temples.

“Rough night?” a voice asked behind him, amused.

Lance groaned and turns. “Yeah,” he started, “You got a problem with it-- _o-o-o-h my God_ ,” he exhaled in a strangled, high pitched tone. He turned his back once more, eyes wide at the floor.

It was Keith. Of course it had to be _Keith_.

“Fuck,” mouthed Lance at himself. He straightened his back, lifted his sunglasses and spun around smoothly; or so, it would have been, if he his elbow hadn’t hit a display of snack-sized dried fruits. It clattered, falling to the floor. Lance scrambled to pick it up. “Shit, uh,” he told Keith, “Sorry.”

Keith stared at him with wide eyes and parted lips. His mouth twitched at the corners, a ghost of smile appearing. Lance grinned.

“Yeah,” he told Keith, “Rough night. _Long_ night.”

Keith nodded, shifting the basket in his hands as the shuffled forward in the line. His basket was filled with all sorts of healthy food Lance had heard about; power foods filled with protein and such. Lance wondered if Keith worked out a lot; he certainly looked like he did. He was wearing gym shoes and leggings-- oh God, those _legs_ \-- and an oversized t-shirt of the Buffalo Spring Break 2014 marathon.

“You, uh,” Lance stuttered, “Working out, or something?” Lance shifted the sunglasses perched on his head subconsciously.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just went for a run.”

 _That’s hot_ , Lance thought.

“That’s great,” Lance said. Keith hummed in agreement, and they stepped forward in line once more. Lance was called to the register. “Guess I’ll, uh, see you around,” he told Keith, with a little wave as he walked backwards.

“Guess so,” replied Keith.

Lance swore he saw him smiling.

 

Alone in his bed at night (Hunk stayed the night at Shay’s), Lance’s dreams wandered back to Keith; how Keith’s legs looked in those leggings, how soft and charming his smile was.

Lance imagined strong pale thighs wrapped around his waist, soft black hair underneath his fingers; a neck glowing white in the moonlight, like a sleet of marble; hands everywhere, fingers that could work magic in the darkness.

Any physical space between them evaporated, in Lance’s mind. He could feel Keith’s hands on his back as he kissed him; mouth warm and wet, eyes open, breaths coming raw and heavy. He was close enough that Lance could see him in the dark; yeah, Lance could see him almost _perfectly_ in the dark.

 

Lance woke up to sticky sheets and soiled boxers.

 

The next time they met, Lance almost didn’t even notice Keith.

It was a Tuesday, it rained, and Lance waited for the 4-train to pull in. A rat scurried along the tracks, and, really, Lance has gotten far too desensitised to that gross bullshit. An umbrella rustled to his left, clutched in the hand of a businessman. Flecks of raindrops hitted his jeans and yellow raincoat. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, adjusted his earbud-- one in, the other dangling in front of his zipper, _duh_ \-- and rocked a little on his feet to the beat.

The train rolled in; a crescendo of a horrific _scr-ee-ch_. People pushed beside him, the doors opened, more people pushed past him.

That was when he saw Keith, entering the train from the left side of the door. Lance shifted on his feet on the right side, trying not to stare. He failed. Keith wore a lot of black, and the wrong shoes for the weather; worn down tattered Nike’s. A duffle bag was swung over his shoulder. He wasn’t frowning, but he didn’t look all too happy either (who _did_ during rush hour?), and that’s all Lance noticed about him, really, aside from those _eyes_.

They dart to Lance, for a millisecond, and then he gets into the train. Lance wondered if he even recognised him, and he followed behind Keith, a little too quickly. They bumped into each other; shoulder against shoulder. Lance’s coat, his sweater, Keith’s hoodie; three layers between them, but Lance swore he could feel Keith’s body heat.

“Sorry,” he told Lance; distant and hurried.

 _Stand clear of the closing doors_ ; then the exhale of steam as they slammed shut.

“No problem,” Lance replied; and he meant it, too, _god damn it_. He had just enough time to hold onto the door handle before the train rocked on. They were one of the last to enter the train, and so are pushed together before the door, huddled against one another.

“Funny how we keep running into each other,” Lance said, studying Keith’s profile. His body swayed with the movement of the train ever so slightly.

“Huh?” he asked.

“I said it’s funny how we keep running into each other: you know, yesterday at Whole Food’s, and… and now…,” Lance trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Yeah,” Keith said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. A ghost of a smile formed on his lips. “Funny.”

Lance grinned, too, and let himself stand a little closer than necessary to Keith.

“You were, uh… I saw you at Allura’s party, too,” Lance stuttered. Keith made him feel embarrassed, especially as he looked at him quizzically. “I mean, not _her_ party. Her law firm’s party. I mean, the law firm she works at.”

Keith blinked at him. Lance was just about ready to jump out of the train and die a painless death. _RIP Alejandro Lance Diaz de Menendez_ , his tombstone would say, _cause of death: cute boys, big mouth_. Lance stared at the window of the train door, watching shades of black travel past.

Just then, Keith made a small noise, and Lance turned his attention back to him. His shoulders shook and he covered his mouth with his hand as he-- _laughed_ . Lance made Keith-- serious, bad boy, stoic and cool Keith-- _laugh_ , and what a laugh it was. It was gorgeous, a breathy, quiet sort of sound. Lance couldn’t help but wonder if Keith didn’t laugh much because he was somewhat embarrassed of it, or something. He caught a hint of yellow teeth shining through the fingers covering Keith’s mouth.

“Sorry,” Keith said, quietly, “And, yeah, no-- um, yeah. I was there.”

“Oh,” Lance replied, “Yeah, cool; cool, _c-o-o-l_.”

Keith nodded. His lips stretched in a manner that made Lance suppose he was hiding a smile. That made Lance’s own grin widen an impossible fraction of an inch.

As the train stopped, passengers pushed past them while exiting. There were two empty seats in the centre of the carriage.

“Hey, wanna sit?” asked Lance, gesturing to them. Keith nodded and followed him, sitting down beside him. Lance could feel Keith’s firm upper arm press against his. The train rocked into motion once more, and Lance leant into Keith once more.

“I think I saw you,” said Keith, “At the party, I mean.”

“Really?” Lance tried to mask the excitement he felt bubble in his chest.

“Yeah.”

It was silent, for a while.

“What are you majoring in?” blurted Lance.

“Finance.”

Keith’s answer surprised Lance. He’d always pictured finance majors to be rich, snobbish kids who would inherit their dad’s business one day. Keith-- in his scruffy shoes and worn down sweatshirt-- was the opposite of that.

“Really? What made you choose that?” Lance asked.

“I’m, uh… I like numbers,” replied Keith.

“Sweet.”

The train rolled into the next stop.

“What about you?” asked Keith once it began moving again.

“Huh?”

“What are you majoring in?” Keith repeated.

“Oh,” Lance said. Keith’s eyes were concentrated on him and only him; intense, reflective, dark. They made Lance’s head spin. “History and public health,” he finally answered, “My mom would have killed me if I only chose history.” He grinned. Keith’s mouth showed the ghost of a smile.

‘ _Lexington Avenue_ ,’ the mechanical voice of the train announced as it slowly halted with a horrific, aching screech once more.

“This-- this is my stop,” Keith said, carefully.

“Oh,” Lance replied, “Do you… do you live here or something?”

Keith laughed; a gorgeous sound over the rumbling of the train. “In the Upper East Side? Seriously? What, do you think I’ve got a penthouse opposite Central Park?”

Lance shrugged. “I dunno, _maybe_ ,” he drawled, “Allura does; NYU, man. You never know.”

“True, but _nah_ ; I work here,” Keith said.

“Really? Nice! Where?” asked Lance.

Keith stood as the train pulled in. “Soulstice. It’s this fancy gym,” he stated, adjusting the bag hanging on his shoulder, “See you, Lance.”

Just like that, he was gone, disappearing into a mass of bodies and anonymous once more in the crowd of the city.

Lance got off at the next station. He’d missed his stop a good thirty minutes ago.


	3. November

New York is megalomaniac. New York is rushing, restless, formless, sensational; cluttered with ugliness, up close.

As Thanksgiving break came and went, Lance presented a different version of himself to his family than the person he was in New York.

(Lance believed in the true dream of America: that if you go to a different place, you become a different person.)

The last Thursday of the month, Lance arrived in that fateful history class, wearing his glasses. He was in finals mode: he stopped wearing contacts, stopped straightening his hair, and began to forget to get dressed for morning classes.

“Hey.” Keith approached him as Lance shuffled out of the classroom, “Lance.”

“Yeah?” Lance replied. It sounded more harsh than he wanted it to, but between school and working part-time at the Union Square Starbucks, he was drained.

“I’ve… um…,” Keith stuttered, “Can I talk to you?”

Lance shifted the books balancing on his arms. “Sure.”

Keith followed him into the hallway.

“I-- you take really good notes,” he announced over the buzz of students.

“Thanks,” Lance replied.

“Could you...,” Keith looked incredibly uncomfortable; eyebrows furrowed, dark pupils staring at the tips of his worn Converse. “Can you send to me?”

Lance almost dropped his books. The wonderboy, effortless genius _Keith_ asking for his help was utterly astounding.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Keith began, all shy and cute.

“No! I mean, yes! It’s fine, I don’t mind. I was going to share them with the class, anyways,” Lance lied.

“Oh,” Keith stated. His eyes widened. “Thanks.” His voice was soft. Lance’s heart melted; just a little.

“Yeah, no problem.” Lance adjusted the books once more. “So-- can I have your email?”

Keith nodded. “It’s just k-kogane and the NYU domain.”

“Two k’s?”

“Yeah, two k’s-- uh, should I..,” Keith began, “I can hold those for you,” he offered, gesturing to Lance’s load of books.

Lance was far too gone: He was _swooning_ , and nodded quickly. Keith held his arms out awkwardly and took the books from Lance in a seemingly slow-motion passage. Their hands brushed. Lance felt hot from his feet to his head.

“Thanks,” Lance said.

“No problem,” Keith replied, “I mean, you don’t exactly look like the kind of guy who lifts weights.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Lance. Keith grinned.

“No offense.”

“None taken,” Lance huffed.

“I’ll walk you to your dorm,” Keith started in a distant tone, all nonchalantly and cool, “You’re free now, right?”

Lance nodded. “Yep.”

“Cool.”

Lance began to walk his usual route home, Keith following him. He wasn’t even straining under the load, arms flexing underneath an unzipped hoodie. If only he would have worn a t-shirt, Lance could’ve seen those strong, pale biceps--

 _Fuck_.

“So,” stated Lance, a little too loudly, “You work out?”

Keith’s mouth stretched into a lopsided grin. He mustered Lance curiously, not quite laughing _at him_ , but still; there was something about that.

“Yeah, I gotta,” Keith said. He adjusted the books, stemming them closer to his chest. “I work at a gym, remember?”

“Right.” Lance pressed his lips together in a thin white line. He was blushing at the mere thought of Keith working out. “Part of the job description, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as Lance announced, ‘ _This is it_ ,’ and gestured to his dorm building. Keith followed him inside. He was walking him to his _door_ , Lance realised, as if this were some sort of high school prom date.

Lance rang for the elevator. Keith rested the tower of books against the wall.

“Exhausted? You don’t have to--” Lance began.

“It’s fine,” interrupted Keith, “Really.”

Lance shrugged. “ _O-k-a-a-a-y_ , then,” he sang.

Keith wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was sweating; _good Lord_ , Lance would be riding in an elevator with a sweating, literally (and figuratively) hot Keith, and _why_? The nagging question bored at Lance’s mind. Was Keith doing this out of kindness, or was he thankful for Lance sharing his notes with him?

The elevator arrived. Keith let Lance enter first-- _what a fucking gentleman, oh no_ \-- and Lance pushed the button for his floor.

“Nice apartment,” Keith remarked. The gentle, irritating elevator music droned on around them.

“Yeah.” Lance fidgeted with his fingers.

“Good location.”

“Uh huh.”

They didn’t look at each other for the entire ride.

Keith let Lance step out first, too, and followed him to his door. He dug for his key and opened the door with the entire weight of his body.

“Thanks for, uh,” Lance began, “You can--”

“I can carry them inside,” Keith interrupted, “I mean, uh, if you want to--”

“Sure!”

Lance walked inside and gestured to the coffee table; an actual cardboard box.

“Nice place,” Keith joked, letting the books drop with a loud noise.

“Thanks.”

Keith dug his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he was wearing, gaze lowered as if he were embarrassed.

“I should--”

“You know,” Lance intercepted. He let his toe draw a semicircle in front of him; _now or never_ , he thought. “You should give me your number. I mean, in case you have any questions about my… my notes.”

Keith blinked at him, pretty mouth parted in a perfect o-shape.

“Yeah,” he said, digging for his phone, “I-- yeah, sure. Here.” He handed it to Lance; a Huawei, two years old and with a scratched-- _not cracked!_ \-- screen. Lance typed in his number, saving his contact as _Lance_ (with a star emoji for good measure).

“I’ll text you,” Keith told him on the way out, and Lance almost believed him.

He _wanted_ to trust Keith fully. He wanted to fall for the idea of Keith and him; the idea of Keith being someone he could rely on, someone he could hold and take home over Christmas break.

But pretty boys didn’t text guys like Lance.

Lance had learnt that the hard way, and didn’t intend to forget it.

 

Two weeks later, finals drew to a close and, after spending hours with Hunk and Pidge in the library, Lance elected to dig out his Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons and call Allura.

‘ _BB & B coupons _ _never_ _expire_ ,’ Allura had told him in his freshman year, and _amen to that_. He’d begun to hoard and collect them soon after, saving them for his quarterly trips with Allura; retail therapy.

“So,” Lance began as they stepped into the cool, infinitely air conditioned store. He grabbed a cart. Allura threw her handbag into it and Lance pushed it, resting his forearms on the handle. “How’s life, boo?”

Allura picked up the store catalog. “‘S alright, I’m living.”

And so it goes; minimal conversation, maximum savings.

“I think--I’m going to… I want to propose; to Shiro.”

Allura’s voice was soft and shy. Lance dropped the baby blue towels he was looking at, throwing them in the cart. It didn’t surprise him-- they’d been dating for four years, friends for even longer-- and they digged commitment _big time_ . They were serious. Lance knew that an engagement meant marriage in a couple of years time, it meant _kids_ : so why was Lance not screaming out of happiness?

“Shit, really?” he asked after a beat. Allura nodded. “I-- that’s great!”

“Really?” she questioned. A smile stretched her lips, boyish and charming. “No bullshit; you really think it’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, no bullshit.”

Lance felt laughter bubbling inside of him. It escaped from his throat, and he grinned brightly, pulling Allura in a tight hug. “Congrats!” he exclaimed, and Allura laughed into his ear.

“Thanks,” she replied before letting an incredulous giggle loose.

“Shit, you’re gonna-- you’re gonna get fucking _married_ \--”

“Engaged,” Allura corrected.

“Whatever. You’re getting engaged, Hunk and Shay are moving in together--”

“No shit!” interrupted Allura. She picked up a soap dispenser and puts it in their cart.

“Yeah, they’re moving in together. I’m gonna be _homeless_ next year.”

Allura pouted at him. “Sorry, babe,” she told him, “I mean, who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone special this year, too.”

Lance frowned. “I doubt it. I can’t even get a text back.”

“From who?” Allura asked.

“Keith. He’s in my history class. Super cute, kind of a bad boy vibe, but really smart, too.”

Allura grinned slyly. “ _Totally_ your type.”

Lance shrugged, face heating up. He threw another towel into the cart as a distraction of sorts. “I mean, I _guess_ ,” he drawled, “My type texts back.”

Allura put her arms around Lance’s shoulders. Light, friendly eyes-- eyes full of life, bright as hell-- stared into Lance’s. “Your type does not text back,” she stated seriously, “Your type is high maintenance. You need to go for it; _work_ for him.”

Lance sniffed and pouted.

“Whatever. I don’t want to work for him. I’m lonely.” Allura frowned, her gaze travelling across Lance’s face, trying to read him. “All my friends are in relationships. All my friends got their shit together!” Lance raised his voice as if he were angry. “What about me?”

Allura drew him into a hug, rubbing his back soothingly.

“What about me?” Lance repeated; just a little wet and raw, muffled into Allura’s cashmere shoulder. “ _What about me_?”

 

Friday night-- on the last night of November-- Lance wore his most ass-flattering jeans and a cropped t-shirt to his go-to gay club; alone.

Keith hadn’t texted him.

Lance wanted some dick, _damn it_.

He wasn’t alone for long, though. Blinded by strobe lights and deafened by bass, Lance ground his ass against a twenty-something Parson’s student’s crotch. He threw his head back, moaned and let the boy’s hands wander down, down, _down_.

“You’re cute,” he told Lance; whispered dirtily and wet into his ear as Lance fell against his mattress, “You’re so fucking _cute_.”

Lance moaned underneath his touch.

 _Yes_ , he thought; he’s cute, and don’t men always use that as a defining compliment? Cute means game. Cute means you don’t get angry: Cute means you smile and giggle and present your mouth for fucking. Cute means you eat cold pizza and remain slim; skinny, but not too skinny; thin enough that palms wrap around your waist, fingers around your throat.

And _yes,_ Lance would be cute this night. He would become someone else, in the dark, but so would the person hunched above him, thrusting into him and groaning into his ear.

Lance forged the men of his dreams.


	4. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit 23/07: finished december :)  
> new part starts with "Morning."

_Charm me. Furiously._ _  
_ _Torment me. In detail._

\-- HERMAN HESSE

 

The next morning. It was the first of the month. Lance was the first to wake and the first to leave. The superficial loneliness Lance felt gnawing at his stomach only strengthened as he quietly closed the front door and took the train back to his and Hunk’s place.

It was early in the morning, so early it was still dark. Then, it started to snow; _hard_ , so hard Lance’s shoes were soaked wet and his nose was running.

 

Things turned from bad to worse fast. With red and purple marks bearing on his throat, Lance sat in the train and let his body rock from side to side. It was early-- five a.m.-- and so Lance let his eyes fall shut. The doors opened, then closed; a mechanical rhythm that could have rocked Lance to sleep.

Someone sat opposite him; clothes rustled, then the sound of a plastic bag being crinkled, a raw cough.

Lance opened his eyes. He felt his lungs inflate with cold air and the onrush of scenery; grey buildings, brown snow, busy people.

And then, _Keith_. Keith, sitting opposite him, plastic bag with a yellow smiley face grinning at him, and scrolling on his phone.

Lance stared at him, eyes crinkling. The bright sun of the early morning illuminated their carriage in a painful white, clean and pure light. For a moment, it felt as though the rest of the dirty city had disappeared; as if they were alone, just the two of them against the rest of the world.

“Hi,” Lance croaked. His head fell back against the window.

Keith looked up at him. “Rough night?”

Lance grinned lopsidedly. “You bet.”

Keith didn’t bless him with a smile in return. He simply crossed his arms and brought his attention back to his phone. “Looks like it,” he mumbled.

Lance sighed. The train halted; opened its doors, then closed.

“Hey,” Lance spoke as it started moving again, “How were finals?”

Keith shrugged. “Alright,” he said, “I think I failed one of my papers, but... I mean, it was alright, could’ve been worse.”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, same.”

Silence.

“How come you didn’t text me?”

Keith lifted his head at Lance’s words. He raised his eyebrows, bangs hiding them. “What?”

“You didn’t text me,” Lance repeated, “Did you-- you understood my notes, then?”

Keith swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I did. Thanks.”

Lance dug his teeth into his lower lips. “Doesn’t take much to text me that,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Keith scratched his forehead and inhaled a shaking breath. “I-- I’m sorry,” he stated brashly, “I’m sorry, okay? I have my phone on airplane mode when I’m studying, and I-- I’m really fucking broke so all I’ve been doing is work and _I can’t lose my scholarship_ and I--” he rushed in an exhale. Lance blinked at him. “I’m sorry,” Keith repeated softly. He toyed with the plastic bag on his lap.

Lance licked his lower lip. He didn’t know what to say: how the hell do you even respond to something like that?

“Hey,” Lance began quietly, gently, _carefully_ : Keith looked like a grenade ready to blow up at any moment, “It’s okay. I get it.”

Keith sighed through his nose. “It doesn’t excuse me from being an asshole. Your notes really-- they, uh… they pretty much saved my ass.”

Lance laughed softly.

“Good,” he said, “It’s a nice ass. It deserves saving.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but failed to fight a grin nonetheless. In the bright light, it was gorgeous; yellow tinted teeth transformed into pearly whites, faded and ugly scars on his face disappeared. Lance wondered how he got them before deciding that _no_ , he didn’t _want_ to know how. Lance preferred the idea of Keith over the person he was; short-tempered, messy past, bad habits. It made him too human, too imperfectly perfect, and far too easy to fall in love with.

“Hey,” Keith spoke, “Are you free Monday? I’ve got an idea of how to repay you.”

 

What Lance had expected was to be treated to some Burger King or Taco Bell, and _not_ to be texted a cryptic address from Keith and ‘ _9 a.m., be there_ ’.

After saving his number, Lance replied with a ‘ _yea ok_ ’ and-- against his intuition-- _was_ there; there being Soulstice, the gym, Lance remembered, Keith worked at.

As Lance walked across the street and checked the address once more, a taxi honked at him, the driver hollering something. Lance jumped onto the sidewalk and climbed up the stairs leading to the frontdoor.

The reception was decked in bright orange, and inspirational phrases littered the walls.

“Yesterday you said today,” Lance read quietly, “What?”

It didn’t make sense. It was a surreal place, smelling simultaneously of incense and sweat and looking more like a flight lounge or smoothie bar than a gym.

Lance looked around before spotting the back of Keith’s head. The nape of his neck was showing, hair tied in a ponytail, _fuck_. He was lifting a large bottle of water, stemming it onto the cooler. His work shirt was short sleeved (Lance could eye his biceps straining under the weight) and on the back… on the back it said--

“ _Cleaner_?”

Before Lance could stop himself, the words were out of his mouth and hanging between Keith and himself.

Keith whipped his head around, face and neck slowly tinting red.

“ _Lance_?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah?” Lance responded, crossing his arms, “You invited me here, remember?”

Keith stepped away from the cooler. A gym member walked past them, throwing a dirty towel at him. He grabbed it and tossed it into the laundry basket. “Yeah, no, I remember. I just, uh-- didn’t expect you so soon. I mean, I lost track of time,” he scrambled, “Or something,” he ended flatly.

Lance’s mouth was still on the floor.

“You’re a _cleaner_?” he asked once more.

“You said that already,” mumbled Keith, “And yeah, I am.”

“I--” stuttered Lance, “I thought you were-- I thought you were a trainer.”

Keith’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “Not a trainer,” he gritted out, “I’m-- I’m working my way up.” His tone was defensive.

Lance scratched his chin. “Like… like in _Shopaholic_?”

Keith’s head titled. “What?”

“Like in Shopaholic? Y’know… Becky gets a job at a finance magazine to climb her way to the top and work at Vogue and shit.”

“Never watched it, but I mean… I guess?”

Lance huffed. “Wow, you’re missing out, man. It’s a great movie, all romantic and shit.”

Keith’s lips stretched into a fond movie. “Maybe you can show it to me some time,” he said carefully.

Lance felt his chest tighten and he swore he couldn’t feel his fingers. “Yeah,” he choked out, “Yeah-- yeah, no, sounds good.”

Keith grinned a little, hiding it as he turned around to put some towels away. Lance rested his elbows on the reception desk, putting his face on his chin and watching Keith; especially how _amazing_ his thighs and ass looked when he squatted down.

“Anyways,” Keith told Lance, back turned, “Someone-- someone I know is a trainer here and he’s free right now, so-- I thought he could give you a lesson. For free.”

“Oh, so you think I need to work out?” teased Lance.

Keith turned his head around, standing quickly. His expression looked utterly shocked.

“No!” he said, a little too loudly, “I mean-- no,” he corrected himself, “You look… fine. Good. I just-- I thought it would be fun, plus we have a pool, so--”

Lance laughed. “It’s fine, sounds great, Keith; really.”

Keith’s face evolved into a shy smile. “Good,” he said, “He’s-- uh, it’s just upstairs. Here’s a pass.” Keith handed him a orange plastic card.

“Thanks,” Lance replied as he took it. Keith’s hand was warm and just a little rough. Keith nodded, palms gripping the reception desk for dear life.

As Lance waved goodbye and made his way up the stairs, he turned around.

“Hey, Keith,” he shouted. Keith turned around and watched him. “For the record, I think you’d make a great trainer.”

The smile Keith gave him almost made Lance’s private training obsolete. It honestly took his breath away.

 

His trainer was-- by no coincidence-- Shiro.

Lance knew Shiro was a personal trainer at the best and most expensive gym in the city; that’s how he and Allura met, after all. He thought Allura was his five o’clock beginner’s pilates class. Allura thought he was her e-x-x-x-treme professional crossfit bench pressing instructor. Both thought the other was the best person they’d ever met.

“Hey, Lance,” Shiro said, “Huh, I shoulda guessed you were Keith’s Lance.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

Lance nearly dropped his gym bag. “ _Keith’s_ Lance?” he asked incredulously.

Shiro laughed. “Sorry, I’ve said too much. Let’s get to work, okay?”

And get to work they _did_.  After one and a half hours of intense exercise on machines he’d never even seen, Lance lay on the soft, clean yoga mats, panting out of his open mouth, chest rising and falling rapidly. Muscles hurt he didn’t even know he had.

“Don’t forget to keep hydrated!” were Shiro’s parting words before heading off to a brunch date with Allura.

Lance exhaled a tired sigh. “Jesus,” he whispered to himself.

“Nah, just Keith.”

Lance sat up quickly,  weight resting on his palms, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Hey,” Keith said. An amused smile graced his mouth. “How was it?”

Lance swallowed thickly. This is what it must be like to see an angel, he realised. The pleasant, warm light of the windows illuminated Keith from behind, bathing him in gorgeous midday sunshine.

“Good,” Lance managed, “Really… good.”

“Great,” replied Keith. “I gotta kick you out, actually. Your pass is gonna expire.”

He reached out a hand to help Lance up and Lance took it; his hand in Keith’s, zero layers between them, skin to skin. Lance was sure he was wet and sticky from sweating, but if Keith cared, it didn’t show. As Lance stood, it took all of his self control to let go of Keith’s pale, magic fingers.

“Thanks,” Lance said.

“No problem.”

Keith led Lance downstairs. Lance couldn’t help but appreciate how amazing Keith’s ass looked in those yoga pants; best work uniform _ever_.

At the reception, Lance handed him the pass and Keith took it, typing something into the computer. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, just like he did when he was working in class.

“So,” Lance said, fingers drumming a nervous tattoo on the desk, “I guess I’ll-- see you around?”

Keith looked up. “Guess so.”

Lance felt his lips stretch into a hopelessly goofy grin. He was so, _so_ far gone, he realised as he walked out of the building.

“I know you’ve got my number now,” Lance told him before pushing the door open. He bit his lower lips shyly, looking at Keith over his shoulder, “So no excuses.”

Keith laughed. Lance smiled at the sound.

 

Two days later.

**From: Keith**

**_are u free on fri?_ **

Lance stared at the screen for a long time. Keith used abbreviations-- he was _adorable_ \-- and he wanted to hang out with _him_.

It took Lance an embarrassingly long time to text back. He had to wait for Hunk to come home from his lecture, since Hunk was clever and witty and funny, and Lance really wasn’t.

“Alright,” Hunk told him from the sofa; feet propped on the makeshift coffee table, thumbs flying away on Lance’s phone, “How’s this?”

Lance grabbed his phone with thin fingers and squinted at the screen: **_yeah, i am_ **

“God,” Lance marvelled, “How are you so good at this?”

Hunk shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

Lance sent it and placed his phone on the coffee table. A couple seconds later, it vibrated. He flung an arm out of the blanket covering him and unlocked his phone. “Twitter,” he sighed. He placed it back on the table.

Then; another vibration. Lance unlocked the screen once more.

“Oh my god, it’s him,” he exclaimed, “Hunk! Holy shit!”

Hunk grabbed his phone.

“‘ _You wanna watch a movie_ ?’” read Hunk. His mouth was stretched into a white grin and he was jumping a little in his seat, bursting at the seams with elated excitement. “Dude! That’s _so_ a date! You gotta ask if he wants to get dinner, too.”

Lance bit at his forefinger, smiling shyly. “You think?” he asked.

Hunk’s eyes glazed over with something fond.

“Yeah,” he told Lance, “You should go for it. You deserve to have fun, man.”

Lance knew there was some truth to that, but it was hard to believe. He didn’t know if Keith was single, if Keith was interested in men, and the chances of Keith being interested in _him_ were slim. And even if the impossible happened, dating was hard. Dating was difficult; but not as difficult as relationships. Relationships always mean someone settling for something less, live a life of coming home and thinking, _this is fine_.

Lance didn’t want a life of fine.

“It’s just a date,” Hunk said nonchalantly, as if he could read Lance’s mind. Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he could.

“It’s not a date,” Lance replied. He drew his knees close to his body. “I always fuck up every single date I’ve been on. This isn’t a date.”

“Alright. Then just hang out with him. He seems like a nice guy. Ask him to get tacos with you, or something.”

Lance exhaled a long breath. He didn’t know he could be this ridiculously into someone he didn’t even really know, because Hunk (as always) was right. He wanted to spend time with Keith. It didn’t matter whether it was romantic or not.

“No,” he told Hunk, “No, I’ll-- baby steps, man. I’mma reply now before I forget,” he mumbled, typing at his screen. “This good? ‘ _Yeah, sounds great._ ’, exclamation mark, hundred emoji.”

Hunk nodded. “Sounds good. You do what feels right.”

Lance sent it at Hunk’s approval, feeling a queasy mix of relief and fear.

 

Against all odds, Keith agreed, and come Friday, Lance stood before the cheapest theatre he knew in East Harlem. He wore his ass-flattering jeans, again, and his go-to jacket. Casual, but nice; not like he’s trying too hard. He pulled out his phone, staring and scrolling through his messages.

**_cool_ **

Then--

**_have u seen the new james bond_ **

Lance, in fact, had not; among all the stress of finals, he didn’t have the time or money to go. It was a good pick. A neutral, nonsensical choice. Something with not too much plot but enough explosions that Lance might be able to pretend to be scared and hold onto Keith’s strong biceps--

(Was he overthinking this? Probably.)

Lance read through the messages again with such intent concentration that he didn’t notice Keith walking towards him until he heard his low, rough voice.

“Hey,” Keith said. Lance shot his head up, eyes widening. Keith wore his hair up in a ponytail, a dark grey sweatshirt, and black, non-ripped jeans. He’d even swapped his usual worn converse for slightly less worn combat boots. Something about that insignificant detail made Lance’s heart squeeze.

“Hi,” Lance breathed, “You look-- nice. You look nice.” The words were out in the open before he could help himself.

“Thanks. Uh, so you do.” Keith’s voice was quiet, almost shy. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear: was he nervous? The idea of him being shy and nervous almost made Lance laugh.

It was silent, then. Keith crossed his arms. His facial expression morphed to permanently angry again, full lips pulled down in slight frown.

“C’mon,” Lance said, “I wanna get good seats.”

He led Keith to the ticket office where a bored, something-teen sat at the register.

“Hi,” Lance told him before Keith could speak up. “Uh, two tickets for _Spectre_.”

The teen typed into the computer. “Where do you wanna sit?” she asked, “We got two seats at the back.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Lance replied.

“That’ll be twenty two dollars.”

Keith reached for his wallet.

“I can pay,” Lance told him. Keith halted.

“You sure?” asked Keith.

“Yeah, I just got paid. I got this,” Lance lied and handed the teen some bills.

They skipped the concession stand-- Lance had some chocolate in his jacket, Keith had chips, and each a bottle of coke-- and went straight to the theatre. They sunk into their seats-- middle column, middle row-- before the theatre darkened. It left little room for conversation and that was probably good: they barely even knew each other, after all.

The theatre turned pitch black(Keith must have arrived a little late) and Lance heard rustling. Keith took chips out of the pocket of his sweatshirt and opened them. Lance was elated. Only assholes open snacks when the movie started.

As the movie began, Lance was frozen beside Keith, sitting up straight before sliding down in his seat. He knew he was tall and he didn’t want his head blocking someone’s view. He watched Keith slouch down in his seat, too, eating his chips. Keith’s expression showed his utter concentration, just like he looked in class. It was adorable. Lance watched the lights of the screen reflect on Keith’s face. Ever so often, he would flinch or jump or his mouth would part in a perfect oh-shape.

In Lance’s book, it was pretty much the best almost-maybe so-not date he’d ever had.

 

“Seventh of all,” Keith told Lance as they walked onto the street. An ambulance siren echoed in the borough. “The villain was definitely not as strong as he could have been. Christoph Waltz is an amazing actor; definitely missed potential.”

“Agreed.”

Lance let his fingers brush against Keith’s as they walked down the steps to the subway, taking the train into the city. For some inexplicable reason Lance didn’t want to question, both had silently decided the night wasn’t quite over yet.

They pressed their metrocards against the readers and pushed through the gates before running to catch the A-train. Lance jumped in first before Keith did and so, he got to experience the amazing feeling of having Keith’s body press against his as he stumbled into him. Keith’s body was warm and firm-- all muscles and bone-- and Lance reached out a hand to steady him. Lance’s palm on Keith’s bicep, fingers feeling soft fabric and firm muscle; one layer between them.

“Sorry,” Keith said in a small voice.

Lance blushed and nodded. He let his hand linger for a moment too long before letting go.

The train rolled on, wheels making a steady beat against the tracks. Keith held onto the same metal bar as Lance-- the one above his head-- and looked up; he was looking at _Lance_ , studying him curiously.

“Why’d you pay?”

Keith’s sudden words took Lance aback.

“Huh?” he asked dumbly.

“Why did you pay for me?” Keith asked softly. His eyebrows crinkled at his forehead, head tilted like he was confused. “You didn’t have to.”

Lance blinked at Keith. He liked his lips and ran his tongue against the inside of his teeth.

Suddenly, he wasn’t in the train. He was standing on the edge of a cliff; jump or walk away. If Lance didn’t say something now, he’d be walking away; away from the possibilities Keith presented to him. A person who understood him, someone to talk to, someone who liked the good and the bad about him. A warm body to feel underneath his fingertips, endless skin to map out with hands, lips, _mouths--_

And so, Lance jumped.

“I know. I wanted to,” he told him. He shrugged in an effort to look relaxed, cool. “I wanted to because I-- because I like you.”

Keith swallowed thickly. Lance could see his throat move and how he flexed his fingers around the metal bar. He looked away.

“Okay,” Keith said, “Okay.”

Lance pressed his lips together in a firm line and stared out of the window.

“I’d like to-- I wanna take you out.”

(Keith had jumped, too.)

Lance whipped his head around and stared at him in shock. A fierce blush spread across Keith’s cheeks and down his neck. He looked angry, as if he were fighting against himself; against his own feelings.

“I mean, if you’d let me,” he rambled, “You don’t have to. Forget I said anything--”

“I’d like that,” Lance interrupted. He could feel a dopey smile spread his lips. “I’d-- I’d really like that, Keith.”

Keith’s mouth parted in a perfect circle before grinning shyly. He looked so vulnerable, in that moment; so young and sweet Lance wanted to kiss him so badly it _hurt_. In that moment, he was no longer a mystical, magical idea of a person, but the true version of himself. He was just a boy.

 

They ended up at Shake Shack; the one in Madison Square Park. Lance ordered a cheeseburger, Keith order a hamburger, and they shared two large fries and a large chocolate milkshake, with one straw. With every sip, Lance couldn’t help but think it were an indirect kiss. The thought made him blush so hard Keith asked him if he were okay.

The conversation they had was unlike anything Lance had ever experienced. Sure, with his friends, he had fun: it was pleasant and light, entertaining and simple. Time spent with Hunk and Pidge was his freetime, a distraction from school and work. They’d do dumb things together. They’d watch trash TV and forget about the lack of minority representation. With his friends, nothing had consequences.

With Keith, everything had consequences. He couldn’t feel himself getting dumber with every moment spent relaxing and laughing on the sofa zipping through channels. Lance felt like a better version of himself when he was with Keith.

(Dating Keith must feel like this all the time, Lance’s brain inserted.)

Sitting with Keith-- thighs touching, feet brushing-- Lance suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

“Where are you from?” he’d asked Keith.

“Texas.” was Keith’s answer.

He wasn’t great at talking. They’d work on that, Lance decided.

 

Keith ended up walking Lance home. It had started to snow, flocks of white showing up in Keith’s mop of black hair and falling onto his eyelashes. Lance reached out to brush them off Keith’s fringe and Keith watched him do so with an unreadable look on his face, blush spreading; or maybe that was just the bright red traffic lights, it was hard to tell.

It was all very high school. Keith led him to Lance’s door and told him to sleep well, and Lance said, “See you around, I guess,” and Keith said, “Yeah, I’ll text you,” (which made Lance laugh).

Lance turned around and closed the door almost all the way. He watched Keith shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans, how he lowered his head and raised his shoulders as he walked, and leaned against the door frame.

In the dim yellow light of the hallway, Lance couldn’t help but wonder what they must have looked out from the sidewalk. Lance wanted to get out and walk eastward, towards the edge of the city and watch the skyline in the depth of the night. High over the city, that yellow little window must have contributed something to the inexhaustible variety of life in the city.

 

It’s humbling, to be the very thing you once hated-- a lovestruck fool-- and Lance was hook, line and sinker for Keith.

It started like this. They texted each other regularly-- a _good morning_ and _good night_ text were habits Lance was readily formed-- and hung out semi-regularly; got food (an excuse) and talked for hours. Lance felt like he could tell Keith anything. Keith was a really good listener.

Then, the impossible. Keith didn’t move seats to sit beside Lance in that fated history class, but he _did_ rest his ankle against Lance’s foot and grinned at Lance.

That must count for something, right?

(“It definitely does,” answered Hunk, “Ask him out already, man.”)

 

Lance decided to get tacos. That was Hunk’s original idea and Hunk was good at relationship things, so Lance thought it would be wise to follow his lead. Plus, he loved tacos. Anyone who dated him would have to love tacos, too. It was a serious detail dealbreaker.

He chose to take Keith to his favourite food truck near campus after class.

“I love this truck,” Keith told him. He swooned. Keith was too much today; loving his favourite food, wearing the most ass-flattering leggings he’d ever seen. He was sort of weirdly jealous. He didn’t know whether he wanted to taste Keith’s ass or own it.

“Me too,” replied Lance.

It was silent, then, but comfortably so as they shuffled forward in the line and placed their order.

“Got any plans this week?” Lance asked.

Keith shrugged.

“Not really,” he answered, “Working more hours to pay rent.”

“Life in the city, man,” Lance said, “Sucks.”

“‘Least you have a roommate,” said Keith.

“You live alone?” Lance asked

“Uh huh,” Keith replied, “I pay all my bills myself.” It shocked Lance, oddly enough. He didn’t expect Keith to have the money to have his own apartment (he wore some of the rattiest clothing Lance has ever seen) and Lance expected him to live with a close, best friend. Keith appeared to be an aloof, cool popular guy with an equally cool, large and close group of friends.

An “Oh,” was all Lance managed to answer with.

“Yup.”

“Do you-- are you… are you not living with someone?” Lance asked carefully.

Keith blinked at him. “I-- seriously? I just told you I don’t have any roommates.”

Lance shrugged. “Yeah, but-- I mean, there’s a difference between roommates and living with someone.”

“What?” Keith was starting to look almost angry now.

“I mean,” Lance started again. He fidgeted with his fingers. “Hunk is my roommate, but he’s going to be living with Shay. She’s his girlfriend.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I’m single?”

Lance felt a tropical burn spread over his cheeks. “I guess,” he mumbled.

“Well, yeah. I am. I don’t have anyone to live with and the only person I’m close enough to be roommates with is living with his soon-to-be fianceé.”

Keith took his taco and unwrapped it, stepping away from the truck and taking a large bite. Lance did the same, but a lot slower as he stared at Keith with a mix of awe and confusion.

“Cool,” Lance said a little too loudly, “Cool, cool, cool.”

Keith simply chewed. They sat down on a nearby bench, watching people walk past.

“You ever make up stories about strangers?” Keith asked. His mouth of full, which should have disgusted Lance, but somehow, because it was Keith, Lance found it oddly charming.

“Yeah,” Lance said after he swallowed a mouthful of taco, “All the time. My siblings and I used to pass time like that.”

Keith smiled. “Sounds nice,” he said, “Shiro used to do it with me.”

“Shiro?”

Keith nodded. “We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“Oh,” Lance managed. His throat had suddenly dried. “Really?” His tone was somehow subdued or bitter. It felt unfair that Shiro got to know him that well when all Lance wished for was to know Keith better than anyone, to breakdown Keith’s facades and know him inside out. He wanted to be special to him, for Keith’s eyes to be just as soft and warm when he talked about Lance as they were when he reminisced about Shiro.

“Yeah. We’re kind of-- it’s a long story,” replied Keith.

“I’ve got time.”

Keith gave him an odd look, some mix of scared and thankful. For such a simple reaction from Lance, Keith seemed strangely touched. Lance took a bite of his taco.

“Okay,” Keith said quietly. He set his taco down in his lap, and started to talk. Lance hadn’t heard him say so much ever, his voice low and rough and soothing. He told Lance about how he’d moved from foster home to foster home, about the asshole kids he’d encountered and the condescending (and, in Lance’s opinion, abusive) adults. When he was sixteen and angry, chain smoking and skipping school, he moved to Dallas from a tiny, no-name town. He lived next door to the Shirogane’s. Shiro was a high school senior and took him under his wing, all patience and kindness. He was the father figure and smart older brother he never had.

“He saved my life,” said Keith, “I swear to God, he saved my life.” Keith laughed in disbelief of his own words and the sincerity of it. Lance licked his lips and tried to not cry, since he was emotional like that. Keith was such a sad boy, with a sad past and large, black sad eyes.

“I’m glad,” Lance said, voice breaking and frail, “I’m glad he found you.”

Keith stared at him for a long while. Their thighs were touching. As Keith was talking to him, Lance must have instinctively leaned closer, arm resting on the back of the bench where Keith sat. Now, they were sitting so close Lance swore he could feel Keith’s breath on his chin and mouth. Lance wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt.

Instead, he flinched away and scooted back. His face was surely bright red. Keith looked down at the ground and tucked his hair behind his ear.

“So… yeah,” Keith said after a moment, “That’s… pretty much it.”

Lance was sure that that _wasn’t_ it. He swore to himself he would figure Keith out, eventually; solve the puzzle that was his being.

 

They talked for hours, in the park in front of the food truck. When the sun began to set and snow fell from the cloudy, dark sky, Lance offered to walk Keith home. Keith lived in Brooklyn, not too far from Lance and Hunk’s place, Lance told him.

As they stood in front of Keith’s building, Lance shuffled in the cold. The street was loud and Keith lived above a takeout place.

“You can-- come upstairs, or something,” Keith offered with a shrug. His cheeks were red.

Lance nodded. “Thanks.”

Keith pushed the door open with the entire weight of his body.

“Careful, it’s heavy,” he told Lance.

The elevator wasn’t working, and so, Lance walked up six flights of stairs; the things he did for cute boys, Lance thought, though at least he got a gorgeous view of Keith’s ass. He felt like an asshole, objectifying Keith like that, but at the end of the day, he was still a healthy college kid with desires.

“Here we are,” Keith announced. Lance was heaving and out of breath. Keith sounded fine.

“Nice,” Lance exhaled (with great difficulty). Keith fiddled with his keys before deciding to put them in his pocket again. Lance studied him curiously. It felt like he was expecting Lance to do something-- _anything_ \-- and so, Lance stepped closer.

“I had fun tonight,” Keith stated.

Lance grinned shakily. Suddenly, he was nervous.

“Me too,” Lance said, “Do you-- would you-- um…” He didn’t know what to say. All he wanted to do was hold Keith’s hand and hug him close, to never let him go.

Then Keith leaned forward and kissed him; pressed chapped warm lips against Lance’s mouth. Lance flinched a little, not because he didn’t expect Keith to kiss him, but because he didn’t know what to do. It felt like he was overflowing, full of emotions he’d been holding in for years and not simply months.

Lance cupped Keith’s cheek, tilted his head, and kissed him back; hard and wet. He felt Keith open his mouth underneath Lance’s lips, breaths mingling hotly and tongues touching. Keith stretched his neck, leaning into Lance’s touch. Lance bent down a little-- out of courtesy and raw want-- and deepened the kiss. Keith moaned; a gorgeous, low sound from deep inside his throat, vibrating into Lance’s mouth.

Keith’s hands wandered across Lance’s shoulders and down his back and chest. Lance swore he shivered and groaned over Keith’s swollen lips. Lance wrapped one of his arms around Keith’s waist, pulling him closer. Keith pushed them even closer together than before, hips touching hips. Lance’s jeans, his boxers, Keith’s leggings, his underwear; four layers between them.

As Keith sucked at Lance’s tongue and bit into his lower lip-- all passion and fire-- Lance was surprised they weren’t scrambling at each other. They weren’t clumsy or shy. Keith kissed eagerly, with curiosity and patience and swaying a little in Lance’s arms. This is what it means to be happy, Lance thought. This is what it’s like.

When they pulled apart, their lips made an obscene noise. Lance had forgotten they were standing in front of Keith’s apartment door. It wasn’t the most romantic setting, but Keith’s eyes were beautiful in the soft yellow light of the hallway, and that must count of something. Lance’s thumb brushed over Keith’s cheekbone and Keith leaned into it, smiling at Lance as he placed his own hand over Lance’s.

Lance grinned. What a treacherous thing it was, Lance realised, to ever think that Keith was anything more than a person; a boy, just like him. In that moment, Keith wasn’t some miracle or fantasy. He was human; made of the same skin and bones as Lance was.

“Wow,” Lance exhaled, “That was-- _wow_.”

Keith exhaled a laugh, all shy and cute. His cheeks were tinted a gorgeous shade of pink and his lips were swollen. _I did that_ , Lance thought. Lance couldn’t stop himself from tucking a stray strand of hair behind Keith’s ear, heart squeezed tight in his chest.

The motion was too intimate. It shocked Lance how romantic it was; too much for the moment. He didn’t want to scare Keith away. More than anything, he wanted Keith to stay, to let him hold him, to kiss his neck and explore each other under soft sheets, to fall asleep sated and know he’d be there in the morning.

“I’ll-- um…,” Keith started, staring down at the floor. He looked embarrassed. “I’ve got work tomorrow morning…,” he finished quietly.

Lance nodded, detaching his hand from Keith’s soft cheek. He was still smiling, so wide his face was starting to hurt.

“Yeah,” he said with a delirious sort of laugh, “Sure, uh-- yeah, right.”

He stood there awkwardly. Keith’s dark eyes watched him intently, as though he were waiting for something. Lance stepped away-- putting a safe couple of centimetres between them-- and tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Keith crossed his arms. Before Lance could let him turn around and leave into his apartment, he placed a chaste, quick kiss on Keith’s cheek. He couldn’t let him go without kissing him again; he just _couldn’t_.

When Lance pulled away, Keith’s eyes were widened. His mouth was stretched in a lopsided, surprised little grin that was utterly adorable. Lance laughed softly.

“I’ll-- I’ll see you around,” he told Keith.

Keith licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “See you around, Lance.”

As he took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his door, Lance couldn’t stop himself from turning around and give him one last onceover and a wave. Keith waved back-- uncharastically so, Lance wondered-- and smiled gorgeously.

Lance took the stairs down, jumping them two at a time and pumping a fist in the air. Sheer joy and happiness spread in his chest, warm and fuzzy. He could still feel Keith’s mouth on his and Keith’s hands on his skin. Even with the barrier of his t-shirt and jacket, Keith’s touch was electrifying.

 

Lance couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home. At night, he laid on his side, staring out of the small window in between his and Hunk’s bed. Hunk wasn’t here, and he didn’t answer Lance’s frantic text of ‘ _KISSED THE BOY!!!!_ ’, which had irked on his nerves for a short while. However, in the depths of the night, Lance found himself instead wishing he could see the whole city-- a magnificent skyline, perhaps-- but instead, he only saw the road beneath and row of buildings on the other side of the street.

Lance kept trying to fall asleep, but then his eyes would dart open, just to check. He wanted Keith here. He hated being alone. He couldn’t help but hope that Keith would show up at his door, standing there looking all pretty, and drag him out for a night he would never forget.

 

It was maybe a month since they’d starting hanging out and seeing each other this often, and Lance could finally admit to himself that he _really_ liked it, whatever they are. It was slow and easy, walking with Keith around the city and refusing to leave, watching the colourful lights reflect in his eyes and off his pale skin. Keith had a mole to the left of his mouth and when he smiled, it was hidden in the pocket of his dimple.

Lance loved hearing Keith talk; when he did, which wasn’t often. Mostly Lance let words slip out between his lips-- childhood memories, stories from high school, how his classes were and how weird his neighbour was-- but when Keith talked, it was captivating. His voice would get all rough and low, as if he were telling a terrific secret to Lance and Lance alone.

“I’m not going home over Christmas,” Keith said, once, standing at the crossing. Lance was pressed up against him; from his wrist to his shoulder. “I don’t have anyone to come home to.”

Keith’s stories always made Lance feel kind of sad or nostalgic, but that one took the cake. Lance watched Keith blink and stare down at the black road and the cars driving by. He yearn to put his arm around Keith and kiss him, hard.

“Hey,” said Lance softly. Keith raised his head and looked at him. “Next year, you should come home with me. You can share my family. I’ve got five siblings _and_ a bunch of little cousins and nieces and nephews.” Lance gave him his best grin; not a _I’m sorry you’re an orphan, that sucks_ grin, but one that he hoped would show Keith that he really wanted him to come home with him. He liked Keith. He wanted to take Keith anywhere, _everywhere_.

Keith’s mouth parted. He licked his lips before they stretched into a shy smile.

“Maybe,” Keith replied, which was better than a no.

The way Keith’s eyes glossed over and how his hand brushed against Lance’s as the light turned green and they crossed the street was something close to perfect.

It was very nice, regardless. As Lance put together a Lego Death Star with his eight year old niece Enya on his living room floor-- Christmas tree blinking behind them-- Lance couldn’t stop his thoughts wandering to Keith’s face; his smile, his eyes. Lance felt warm.

 

Lance was back in town on the night of the twenty seventh, greeted by Hunk at the Port Authority, hugging him before getting the hell out of the Port Authority, since it was _disgusting_. They took a cab back to their apartment and Hunk helped Lance unpack before someone knocked on their door incessantly.

Allura stood before their door when Hunk opened it, hand in Shiro’s.

“He said yes!” she announced. Shiro lifted his hand, showing off a sparkly ring. His eyes were wet. Allura was practically vibrating with excitement and sheer, utter happiness. “On Christmas, but still. Surprise!”

Lance dropped the t-shirt he was holding and ran to the door. “Holy shit!” he shouted, running up to them and hugging them as soon as Hunk released the pair, squeezing them in a soft, warm embrace.

“We’re going to celebrate,” Shiro said, breathless. “We-- we already called Pidge, Matt’s out of town but-- yeah. Get Shay and Keith to come, it’ll be fun.

“I’m in,” Lance said loudly, “I’ll call him on the way.”

“Uber’s outside,” said Allura, “Let’s go, go, _go_ people!”

 

Lance ordered a rum and coke, Shiro and Hunk got a beer, Allura sipped on a long island, Pidge chose a Sprite. Shay asked for a “Sex on my beach-- the beach. Sex on _the_ beach. Sorry,” which made Keith get his Desperado up his nose. After all introductions were made and congratulations were said, they settled into a booth, squeezing together. The college bar they were in played the soundtrack of Guardians of the Galaxy, which made Hunk groan.

“I hate this,” he said, “Why are we here?”

“Happy hour,” Shay explained. Her hand was on his thigh. Hunk smiled at her, eyes going soft.

Beside Lance, Keith took a long sip of his drink, throat bobbing. Lance watched Keith watch Hunk and Shay: was he jealous? Lance certainly was. He wanted to put his arm around Keith and hold his hand. He wanted them to go steady, like Shay and Hunk, Shiro and Allura. He wanted this to be _real_.

“Want a refill?” Lance asked Keith once he was done chugging his beer. Keith looked at him blankly before shrugging. Keith put his chin in his palm and looked away.

“Guess not,” muttered Lance. He’d forgotten how difficult Keith could be. Ignoring someone’s text and replying an hour later was less hurtful than ignoring them in real life.

“I’m pacing myself,” said Keith, then. He’d whipped his head around was looking at Lance, all large dark eyes and furrowed brows. “I’m not getting drunk unless you are.”

Lance leaned in, close enough to feel Keith’s hot breath on his mouth. “Is that a challenge, pretty boy?” he teased. Keith’s cheeks flushed a gorgeous pink.

“Sure,” Keith replied. He swallowed thickly. “Order some shots, let’s do this.”

Pidge whooped, high fiving Lance. “Get tequila!” they told them with far too much enthusiasm, “I _love_ tequila-Lance.”

“What happens when Lance drinks tequila?” Keith asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough, buddy,” replied Hunk. He grinned at Shay over his beer.

 

Thighs pressed together, warm breaths mingling, Keith and Lance ended up being the only two sitting in the booth. Pidge had gone home, they had class tomorrow morning. Shay and Hunk had left to go to Shay’s place, too tired and jetlagged from Christmas break to be bothered to stay. Only Shiro and Allura were left, swaying on the dancefloor of the bar. Lance, for once, didn’t mind being left behind. It meant he could lean closer to Keith, his arm around Keith’s broad shoulders and tell him about his eleventh birthday party.

“Diego threw up in the ballpit,” he whispered wetly into Keith’s ear, far closer than he needed to, “It was so gross, dude.”

“Your  _face_ is gross,” Keith retorted. He giggled: Keith _giggled_. There was something warm about his eyes, too, unfocused and soft as he watched Lance talk and talk, a permanent, lazy smile on his lips. He was gorgeous. He took Lance’s breath away-- even after all this time-- and made his words turn nonsensical. All he could do was look at Keith, silently. His heart was racing like crazy and he was sure his face was bright red as his fingers carefully slid from Keith’s shoulder to the nape of his neck. The soft, black hairs there felt like heaven under Lance’s touch.

“Hey,” Keith exhaled softly, “Don’t freak out.”

Warm hands cupped Lance’s face, and then he felt a warm mouth against his; _Keith’s_ mouth. His chapped lips pressed against Lance’s, hot tongue licking into Lance’s mouth. Lance was a little drunk. Keith was _a lot_ drunk; so drunk that he’d probably still feel it in the morning. But, come tomorrow, Lance would be sober, and Keith would still be just as beautiful, so Lance kissed him back, met his tongue with his and bit into his lower lip.

“You’re drunk,” Lance told Keith’s mouth, tucking Keith’s hair behind his ear.

Keith grinned slyly. “Yeah,” he said, “Not-- not too much, though. Sober enough to know what I want.”

Lance nodded,digging his teeth into his lower lip. “Yeah,” he told Keith. He kissed him again, not able to help himself. “Yeah, okay. Let’s-- let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Keith grinned. His smile promised a whole world of fun.

 

They ended up at Keith’s place. It was a one room apartment with a tiny bathroom and kitchen. The heating was horrible, the walls were damp, and the smell of Chinese takeout wafted up through the closed, thin windows.

As they stumbled through the hallway and into Keith’s bedroom, Lance couldn’t help but think back to the night of their first kiss, when Keith pressed his lips against Lance’s and blew his mind. Right now, though, Keith seemed to want to blow something else, too, as he bit and licked all over Lance’s throat. His breath was hot and wet and fanned over Lance’s skin, raising goosebumps and forcing a dirty moan out of Lance’s throat. It sounded so erotic. Lance was taken aback by how much he wanted Keith.

He wrapped his arms around Keith; one hand on his waist, the other carding through the soft hair on Keith’s nape. Keith pushed Lance onto his bed. Lance bounced a little on the mattress and Keith crawled into Lance’s lap immediately, dragging his tongue in a long stripe from Lance’s collar to his jawline. Lance threw his head back and groaned through gritted teeth, hips jutting up into Keith’s ass as Keith ground down. It felt like heaven: _how many squats does this boy do?_

Keith’s hand slid underneath Lance’s shirt, fingers tracing the topography of his abdomen muscles, and Lance shivered.

Keith sucked a mark into the juncture of Lance’s throat and shoulder. He leaned back, breath hot in Lance’s ear. He licked the shell; all dirty and nasty. Lance moaned loudly, letting his hand travelling from the modest position of Keith’s waist down to his ass, cupping and massaging it. Keith groaned.

“Now you’re mine,” Keith whispered, thumb brushing against the fresh hickey he left.

Lance’s mouth stretched into a lazy, pleasured smile.

“Yessir,” he mumbled. Keith rolled his hips down and kissed his neck, right behind his ear. Lance shivered.

“Kiss me,” Lance breathed, “Kiss me,” and then, it has hard to breathe at all. Keith made a small noise at the back of his throat and pressed his lips against Lance’s, softly at first, then harder, parting his mouth and sucking at Lance’s tongue. It felt like Keith was trying to memorise him, and all Lance could do was lean into Keith’s touch; _take me, I’m yours, I’ve never been anything but._

When they pulled apart, Lance let his lips travelled downwards, pressing softly against Keith’s throat and collarbone. He let his teeth scrape against the smooth, pale skin there, eyelashes brushing and fluttering. Keith’s fingers scraped against Lance’s scalp, tugging at his hair to pull him closer. The pants that escaped Keith’s mouth were so raw and erotic Lance felt like he was drowning, toes curling in pleasure.

“Lance,” Keith managed, “Lance-- hold on--”

Lance detached his lips from Keith’s neck and inched his head back, putting some safe distance between them.

“Yeah?” Lance asked. He was completely out of breath, as though he just ran a marathon.

“I’m-- I’m too drunk to do anything,” Keith told him, tone careful and almost dejected. His eyes were glossed over focused on Lance’s face, fingers brushing softly through Lance’s hair.

Against his will, Lance’s lips stretched into a soft smile. “Sure,” he replied, “We can stop. I’m pretty tired, anyways.”

Keith licked his lips and nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Do you-- do you want me to stay?” Lance’s hands were resting on Keith’s shoulder and waist. He didn’t want to leave, but he respected Keith and thought it would be insanely creepy to just assume Keith wanted to literally sleep with Lance. He didn’t have a sofa. They’d have to share Keith’s single.

“More than anything,” said Keith.

“Okay,” Lance said, “I-- I mean, if you change your mind and kick me out in the middle of the night, that’s-- that’s okay, too.”

Keith threw his head back and laughed, throaty and raw, shoulders moving. “That’s not gonna happen,” he told Lance, giving him a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek and pushing his fringe back before leaving Lance’s lap. He stood and stretched, arms raised and toes pointed. His back cracked and he moaned.

Lance watched him, desire still hot in his stomach. Keith opened his closet and knelt down-- Lance couldn’t help himself from staring at his round ass-- to dig through his clothing. The sight of Keith’s strong thighs and full ass was so distracting Lance was hit in the face with some cotton clothing Keith threw at him.

“Pyjama,” Keith clarified, “I don’t want your gross bar clothing on my sheets.”

“My clothing’s not gross,” Lance said. He pulled his shirt off and put on the t-shirt Keith gave him. It was large and black, with some band that played in Buffalo in the 2000s. “You okay with me sleeping in my boxers?” Lance asked.

“Knock yourself out,” replied Keith. He stood in front of his closet, back turned to Lance. He took off his shirt first, back muscles flexing and glistening in the dim light. His skin looked like marble, all smooth and infinite. He pulled his leggings off next, with some difficulty-- they were _tight_ \-- and Lance basked in strong thighs and round calves. They were quickly covered by baggy, black sweatpants with a hole in the knee.

“I don’t-- I sleep shirtless,” Keith clarified. He ran a hand through his messy hair. “You-- you cool with that?” His cheeks were covered in a cute shade of pink.

“Yeah,” Lance stated awkwardly, “Yeah, sure-- I don’t mind.” He shifted awkwardly, biting at his thumb and trying-- and failing-- to not stare at Keith’s shoulders, his defined abdomen and the dreaded masculine v-shape leading down to his groin. His sweatpants hung low. Lance swallowed thickly.

Keith turned and caught his heated gaze. If Lance didn’t say something now, the moment would be lost forever. In the time it took Lance to think that, Keith had turned around and walked towards the window. He drew the blinds, basking the room in darkness, save only for the permanent lights of the city.

“I gotta-- uh… bathroom,” Lance managed, springing off the bed on legs that were just a little shaky. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

Keith’s bathroom was just next to his bedroom. Lance didn’t even wait for Keith to tell him where it was. He couldn’t take it anymore. Keith was so erotic and cute and beautiful and handsome, all at the same time. Lance splashed cold water on his face.

“Get it together,” Lance told himself quietly in the mirror, grasping the sink to steady himself. He willed the tension he felt thrumming in his veins to calm down.

It wasn’t working. Lance was covered in blossoming hickeys made by Keith; Keith's hot, wet, heavenly mouth.

Lance sat on the toilet, wrapping his fingers around his leaking, hot shaft and jerked himself off, digging his teeth into his lip to muffle his sounds. Keith was too drunk and tired to hear him, Lance decided, and Lance didn’t want Keith to wake up in the middle of the night and feel his hard-on digging into his back. Biting into his fist, Lance spilled over his hand. The ghost of Keith’s lips, hands, _ass_ on his body was all it took.

He wiped his hand with toilet paper and flushed it down, washed his hands with ice cold water and fixed his hair. He took out his contacts, too-- he’d regret it otherwise tomorrow morning-- and threw them away. Then he opened the door slowly, carefully, and suddenly, he was incredibly nervous.

Keith was laying in bed, face was smashed into pillow and laying on his stomach. One arm was underneath his pillow, the other beside his torso. His eyes were closed-- long lashes inky marks on pale skin-- and his mouth was parted. His breathing was slow and deep. He must have fallen asleep almost immediately.

Lance lifted the blanket as quietly as he could manage and slid in beside him. Lance didn’t know what to do with his long, lanky limbs. The bed was so small that eventually, Lance realised he had to drape his arm over Keith’s bare waist. Keith’s skin was warm. In the dark, Lance couldn’t see much and Keith’s face was hidden in the pillow.

Still, Lance thought, Keith was beautiful. He made little sounds as he slept, an almost snore, and shifted a little. He lay on his side, facing Lance, and Lance spent a long time studying the hundreds of places Keith’s body curved; from his nose to his cheekbones, from his cupid’s bow to his square jaw, down to his neck and shoulders--

 

Morning. A police siren rang, traffic buzzed outside, Keith’s neighbours were loud and awake. The sun hurt Lance’s eyes, and so he closed them once more. He blindly searched for Keith’s body beside him, but all he could feel was phantom warmth. The pillow Lance’s head was lying on smelt like Keith, or maybe, it smelt like them together.

Lance sat up, scratching at his head. He leaned down to the floor, searching for his phone. Hunk had called him twice. He sent him a text telling him he was okay and spent the night at Keith’s.

Lance was not a morning person. Keith, it seemed, certainly was. The distant rumble of plates and sizzling, along with the enticing smell of breakfast, was all the proof Lance needed. Lance cracked a small smile and stretched, working out the pain in his back he’d felt, courtesy of Keith’s old, small mattress. Lance pulled the blankets away and stood, bare feet tapping against Keith’s linoleum floor.

Lance went to the bathroom. He debated whether or not to try and tame his now-curly bedhead, but decided against it. Without his contacts, he was sort of blind, but at least his eyes weren’t painfully irritated. Once he decided that this was as good as it was going to get, Lance walked into the kitchen.

Keith’s kitchen was small, but he had the basics covered. He stood at the stove, one hand on his hip and the other on the handle of his pan. He was still shirtless. Lance had the sudden urge to bless himself like his mother taught him to. The sight was nearly holy; back muscles tensing, arms flexing.

“Smells good,” Lance said, “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

Keith turned his head, glancing at Lance with the ghost of a smile before turning his attention back to stove. “Eggs,” he told Lance, “I’ve got toast, too. That’s all I had in my fridge.”

Lance nodded. “Cool.”

The scene was so domestic and sweet, so calm and serene, that Lance couldn’t manage to be more articulate. He wanted to ask Keith all sorts of things; what last night meant, if they could do it again. Instead, Lance took a seat at the small table in the centre of the kitchen, putting his feet on his chair and resting his chin on his knees, underneath laced fingers. He watched Keith reach up to take out two plates and put the eggs on them and walk towards Lance. He placed one of the plates in front of Lance, as well as a fork and knife and toast.

“I don’t have any butter,” Keith clarified, “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Lance replied, “Thanks for cooking.”

Keith nodded and began to cut into his food. As Lance studied Keith eating-- the large bites he took and how messy he was-- he realised just how far he had fallen for him. Lance didn’t think he ever wanted to be with someone so much. He didn’t think he could ever be so utterly terrified that someone would reject him.

“How’s your hangover?” asked Lance.

“It’s okay,” Keith replied, “Not too bad. I don’t get bad hangovers.”

“Lucky you.”

They ate in silence and full of shy glances.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Keith announced once he was finished. He stood and put his plate in the sink.

“Want me to join you?” Lance’s mouth moved before he realised what he just said. The words hung between them for a beat. Keith stared at him blankly.

“I mean, okay.”

Lance felt his jaw drop. He was a _genius_. Keith walked into the bathroom and Lance stood so quickly his chair screeched against the floor. He stumbled behind Keith and he wanted to hold his hand, but he figured it would be too intimate and romantic.

Instead, as soon as they entered the small bathroom, Lance cupped Keith’s face and kissed him. Keith was caught off guard and stumbled back, grabbing onto Lance’s shoulders to steady himself. Blindly, Keith got the shower started, water falling drowning out the erotic, dirty symphony their lips made.

Lance struggled to remove his shirt as Keith kissed him and briefly pulled apart to tug it off. As soon as it was thrown on the floor, Keith leaned in for another slow kiss, hands gliding up and down Lance’s chest, across his ribs and the divots of his spine. His fingers grazed the ticklish part of Lance’s lower stomach before toying with Lance’s waistband. Lance laughed against Keith’s mouth.

Keith smiled-- Lance could feel it against his lips-- and kissed down Lance’s jaw. Lance groaned and grabbed at Keith’s ass, pulling his hips against Keith’s and grinding against him. He could feel Keith’s hot breath fan quicker against his skin.

Lance pulled down Keith’s sweatpants until they were low enough for Keith to kick off. Keith raked his fingernails across Lance’s sharp hipbones before beginning to carefully, tenderly massage Lance’s cock. Lance moaned, the sound vibrating and echoing off the walls of Keith’s bathroom.

“Fuck,” Lance hissed. His spine arched. “Pull me out, baby-- _fuck_.”

Keith was touching him, nothing more and nothing less. They weren’t having crazy hot animal sex, or something, but for some reason, Lance realised he had never wanted someone this bad.

“Shower,” Keith mumbled against Lance’s skin. Lance nodded, pulled down his boxers, and grasped for the shower curtain, pulling it aside and stumbling inside. Keith followed him, lips still attached to Lance’s neck.

“Don’t you-- _ah_ \-- think you’ve left enough hickeys last night?” Lance managed to ask. He dug his nails into Keith’s back, warm water flowing down his body.

“Nah,” replied Keith. He pulled back, scratching Lance’s skull and tugging at his hair to pull back his head. “Never enough.” He licked a long stripe from Lance’s collar up to the sensitive spot behind his ear.

“Fuck, _Keith_ ,” moaned Lance. He was shameless, playing it up only a little by arching his back and gasping desperately. Despite the cold tiles on his back, Lance felt himself getting more excited by the second, exhaling faster and more ragged. He lolled his head against the tiles, eyes fluttering shut, and pulled Keith closer to him.

Keith’s wet, warm body pressed up against his, mouth hot on his neck until he kissed him again. Lance was limp and compliant under Keith’s touch, gasping when he felt a long, slow stroke on his cock. Keith put his forearm beside Lance’s head. Keith was staring at Lance intently as he lined his cock beside Lance’s. Lance wanted to look down and watch it, but he knew he would come right away. Instead, he arched his spine and felt his knees give out a little, moaning a broken rendition of Keith’s name.

He reached out and let his fingers travel over Keith’s jaw and cheek. Their eyes locked-- hot and heated-- and Keith leaned closer, until their foreheads touched. Lance felt Keith’s hot breaths fan over his mouth. Lance kissed him. He felt delirious, almost.

“Fuck,” Keith exhaled when they parted. Lance snaked an arm between their bodies, not daring to look down, but instead blindly stroking Keith’s cock. He ran his thumb over the tip-- Keith was uncut, unlike Lance-- and pulled down the foreskin, fingers tightening around his shaft. Lance could feel Keith’s breath hasten as he groaned in appreciation.

Keith squeezed the base of Lance’s cock. Lance could hear himself making louder noises and feel himself come closer to release.

“Keith,” he stammered, “Keith, Keith-- I--”

Finally, his jaw dropped and a raw moan echoed against the tiles of the shower as Lance came; hard, harder than he ever has. Keith spilled over Lance’s hand soon after. His muscles tensed and he gritted his teeth and groaned.

After his breathing became less shallow, Lance pulled him in for a sloppy, wet kiss, not letting go of him until their fingers pruned.

 

Keith had to go to work and so he simply turned off the shower and handed Lance a towel. They didn’t make eye contact or kiss in the condensated bathroom, drying off silently. Lance couldn’t stop himself staring shyly at Keith’s smooth, wet body, though.

After getting dressed in a similar manner of awkward, hidden glances, Lance watched Keith hoist his work gym bag over his shoulder and dangle his keys between his fingers.

“You ready to go?” he asked Lance, looking at him with wide, dark eyes. Lance nodded quickly, blush spreading over his cheeks. The sight was too domestic for his weak heart.

“Yeah,” managed Lance. Keith gave him a little grin and lead them out of the door, locking it behind him.

 

At the train station, Lance announced, “I’m going down to Williamsburg.”

Keith dug his teeth into his lower lip and adjusted his bag. “I’m going uptown, so…,” he told Lance.

Lance grinned. “Hey,” he said, “Are you free on new year’s? Allura’s throwing a party and I was wondering if you-- um… if you wanted to be my plus one.” He phrased it like a question, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his winter jacket to mask his insecurity.

Keith blinked at him. It started to snow, flocks of white landing in Keith’s dark hair.

“Uh-- yeah,” he replied, exhaling a laugh. His red, swollen lips stretched in a smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”

“Great!” Lance repeated, “Great, um… I’ll text you the address.”

Keith nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Lance pushed his weight on the balls of his feet, nervously rocking back and forth softly.

Lance’s train began to roll in. “That’s my train,” he announced needlessly. Keith nodded again, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something.

Before Lance left into his train, Keith put his hand around Lance’s shoulder. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed chapped, warm lips against Lance’s cheek. The intimacy of the chaste kiss made Lance’s heart beat faster than it had during last night, impossibly so.

Lance grinned brightly.

“I’ll-- see you in class, Lance.” Keith’s voice was low and hushed, as if he were telling Lance a terrific secret.

Lance laughed, breathing out, “Yeah, yeah-- I will.”

He couldn’t stop grinning the whole ride home.

 

Come New Year’s Eve, Lance offered to pick Keith up because he was romantic, like that, and he really, _really_ hoped that Keith wanted to be romanced by Lance. As he arrived in front of Keith’s door, his palms were sweaty and uncomfortably warm. He wiped his hands on his ass-flattering jeans and adjusted the white button down he chose to wear; casual, but not lazy. He wanted to show Keith he was able to be serious (and  able to be serious with him, if he’d let him).

Lance knocked on the door. He heard Keith shout out “Coming!”, which made Lance blush because _of course it did_ . When Keith suddenly opened the door forcefully, he honestly took Lance’s breath away. He’d only seen Keith in ratty, old and worn clothing or his work uniform and not _this_. Keith’s hair was pulled back in a messy bun and he was wearing a white dress shirt half-tucked into torn, ripped black jeans and his combat boots. He somehow looked both hot and cute. Lance wanted to throw him against the door and make him scream his name all night long, but also take him home and introduce him to his family.

“Wow,” Lance exhaled quietly An awestruck smile spread across his lips.

Keith’s mouth stretched on one side. “Hi,” he told Lance.

“You-- you look good,” said Lance, “Um… _really_ good.” He laughed breathlessly, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“Oh. Thanks.” Keith shifted at the door. “Do you… um… wanna get going?” He pointed his thumb to the door.

“Yeah.” Lance nodded quickly, averting his gaze. He was blushing. “I ordered an Uber.”

Keith raised his eyebrows as he pulled his door shut and locked it. “Wow,” he told Lance with a sharp grin, “You’re really treating me tonight.”

“Always, baby,” Lance replied; or, at least he tried to treat Keith right. Keith deserved it.

 

They ended up just late enough for Allura’s party for it to be in full swing when their ride pulled up on Allura’s uptown street. Lance watched Keith lean against the window, staring at the lit up buildings with some childlike wonder. The harsh, bright lights of the city reflected on Keith’s face. He wore a sort of nostalgic, soft grin that made Lance wish he knew what Keith was thinking of.

“Makes you feel so small,” Keith heard him mumble.

“What does?” asked Lance.

Keith sat up and turned around to look at him. “I don’t know,” said Keith, “The city, I guess. It’s-- it’s a lot for a boy from Texas.”

Lance stared at him with widened eyes. In that moment, he understood him. It was hard to leave, until he did. After he left, it felt like the easiest damn thing in the world. Though, there was always an inch of nostalgia and yearning for home in Lance’s heart.

“Don’t worry,” he told Keith, “It’s a lot for a boy from Cuba, too.”

“You’re Cuban?”

Lance laughed, shoulders shaking. “Yeah, no shit! I’ve literally got a Cuban flag hanging above my bed.”

Keith shrugged. “I’ve-- I mean, I’ve never been in your bed, so…,” he trailed off, shrugging and blushing.  

Lance grinned sharply. “Maybe we can change that tonight,” he said. He leaned closer to Keith, shooting him a bright smile. For once, Keith didn’t seem to shy away from Lance’s affection and instead leaned towards Lance, too, slowly and cautiously, like he was a little scared. Lance would be patient. He would wait for Keith, no matter how long it took.

 

As soon as the elevator door opened, Lance and Keith could hear the booming, vibrating bass from Allura’s top floor penthouse. Last year, Lance attended her party with his then-girlfriend. She ended up leaving early without him because she was tired. She also ended up leaving Lance alone at the stroke of midnight with no one to kiss. He hoped this year it would be different; he wanted a new year’s kiss from Keith, _damn it_!

As soon as Allura opened the door, she greeted them each with a kiss on the cheek.

“Loving the music, ‘Lura,” Lance said, “Sounds like my favourite gay club.”

Allura threw her head back and laughed, full lips stretching into a wide grin. Her hair was braided and pulled into a high ponytail, which bobbed as she giggled.

“I love that,” Keith told Lance seriously.

“You give the best compliments,” Allura said breathlessly, “C’mon, go get some drinks. There’s an open bar on the terrace.”

Lance shot Keith a smile that promised a whole world of fun and made a beeline for the bar. He ordered a martini, Keith ordered a beer, and they made some pleasant, easy conversation with Allura and, eventually, Shiro. Shiro wrapped his arm around Allura’s waist. They looked like a couple, perfectly compatible in every way. As Keith laughed at some joke Shiro made, Lance couldn’t stop himself from studying Keith’s microscopic shifts in his expression and wondering if they looked good together, too.

Eventually, Allura spotted a colleague from work and excused herself, leaving Lance alone with Shiro and Keith. Strangely, he felt like a third wheel, even if Keith was his plus one.

“Where are Hunk and Shay?” asked Shiro.

“They’re staying at Shay’s parent’s house in New Jersey,” Lance answered, “Shay’s big on family, y’know.”

Shiro smiled gently. “Sounds nice.”

Lance shrugged. “They’re really close: has it’s ups and downs, trust me.”

Keith shifted beside Lance. His eyebrows were furrowed together, lips pressed in a tight white line. He crossed his arms and shifted his gaze, looking away. That’s when Lance realised why: they were talking about family when Keith had none. Lance reached out to place his palm on the small of Keith’s back. It was warm-- only one layer between them-- and Keith flinched, but then relaxed under his touch as Shiro asked Lance how school was going.

“Good,” Lance answered. He took a sip out of his martini glass. “Pretty good.”

“That’s great. How about you, Keith?” Shiro asked.

Keith licked his lips and looked up at Shiro with wide, glazed eyes. “It’s alright,” he told Shiro, “Looks like I’ll be able to keep my scholarship, which is-- which is nice.”

Lance was taken aback by Keith’s words. He knew Keith had been worried about his scholarship, but Keith hadn’t updated him, or anything. Lance felt a little offended, as though Keith didn’t trust him as much as he did Shiro. Suddenly, it felt like Lance was back on square one, and that Keith was once more an impossible, fleeting idea.

Once Shiro left to find Allura, Lance replaced his now-empty martini glass with champagne from one of the waiters hovering around the crowd. Hand low on Keith’s back, Keith still sipped on his beer, bottle failing to hide his smile. Lance declared the champagne as delicious.

“I mean, I couldn’t imagine that it wouldn’t be,” Keith replied with a clever grin, “This is Allura we’re talking about.”

“Amen to that,” said Lance. They shuffled to stand near the large, open windows, at the edge of the crowd. Keith leaned his hips on the window sill, and Lance gravitated towards him, arms on bracketing his body as he placed his palms on either side of his hips. He watched Keith tilt his head back and swallow his beer, throat bobbing and lips wrapped around the bottle head. Keith held his gaze, dark eyes glinting in the dim light.

It was easy, with Keith. It was easy for Lance to start telling him about how he’d met Allura, about their BB&B trips (which made Keith laugh, rough and low like sandpaper) and their Sephora sessions together.

(“You should do my makeup sometime,” Keith had told him. Lance’s throat suddenly went very dry. Keith was already attractive, utterly beautiful, with his greasy skin and messy hair. The thought of him polished up made Lance feel all sorts of ways. Keith merely grinned.)

“Hey,” Lance said, “We should dance, c’mon.” Carefully, he moved one of his hands to wrap around Keith’s hip, sliding up and down the outside of his thigh. Keith glanced down at it, briefly, before setting his beer bottle down and grabbing Lance’s hand, tugging him onto the dancefloor.

After pushing through the crowd, Keith whirled around and pressed his back to Lance’s chest. Suddenly, all Lance could feel was the boiling heat of Keith’s body as a fast song played, commanding the crowd _jump!_ A mass of squirming bodies pushed them closer together, an impossible inch. Lance licked his lower lip and panted into Keith’s ear, breath fanning hotly over his cheek and down his throat. Keith arched his back and gyrated his hips, pushing his ass flush into Lance’s crotch.

As Keith rolled his body, Lance groaned. He hid his face in the crook of Keith’s shoulder, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sliver of his skin exposed on Keith’s neck. Keith moaned-- Lance could feel it-- and reached back, threading his fingers through Lance’s hair. Lance was quickly becoming slick with sweat.

“Oh, fuck--” hushed Keith into Lance’s ear, spinning around in Lance’s arms, “Fuck, let’s get out of here.”

Lance pressed a kiss to the spot behind Keith’s ear, tugging him even closer at Keith’s waist until their crotches were flushed. “Where d’you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” Keith leaned forward. He cupped Lance’s face with warm hands, wrapping his arms around Lance’s shoulders and head. He pressed his mouth to Lance’s; hot and firm. “Everywhere. ‘S long as it’s with you.”

“Okay,” Lance replied. He pressed one last kiss to Keith’s jaw. “Okay.”

 

Lance ended up tugging Keith into Allura’s bathroom. As soon as Lance locked the door behind them, Keith began to unbutton Lance’s shirt and bite into his neck and throat, creating new marks onto the faded ones he’d left there already. Lance quickly found himself propped up against the sink.

It was proven to Lance once more that Keith was a touchy drunk, but not one of those that cause bruises on thighs and hips. Instead, he was the kind that slowly curl fingers around waists and arms and laugh. Lance loved it. He was beginning to love an alarming amount of things about Keith.

He swore he wasn’t breathing as Keith brushes his fingers against Lance’s cheek, then down to his jaw line. There was a sort of serious look in his eyes as he leaned forward, slowly trailing his lips across Lance’s jaw. Lance shivered.

“Keith,” he whined and closed his eyes. He sounded desperate, but couldn’t bring himself to care; not with how Keith bit and kissed and sucked all over his neck and collar. “Hope you left marks,” he joked. He felt Keith smile-- maybe even smirk, that would’ve been hot-- against his skin.

“Yeah,” Keith replied, “Always.” He tangled a hand in Lance’s hair, tugging at it and forcing Lance to tilt his head back and bare more of his neck. He licked his way up Lance’s throat before kissing him, messily and sloppily. He didn’t care. Keith didn’t seem to either and if he did, he sure as hell didn’t show it.

Lance reached down between them, caressing his chest before unbuttoning Keith’s jeans, pulling the zipper down and palming him. Keith moaned into his mouth. Their lips made a dirty wet popping noise as they pulled apart.

“I wanna taste you,” Lance whispered hotly into the shell of Keith’s ear. He traced his tongue around it, too, for good measure. He felt Keith shiver, though maybe that was wishful thinking.

“Fuck, yeah,” hissed Keith, “I want you so bad.”

Lance’s lips stretched into a lazy, sated smile. He pulled Keith out and slid down, kneeling on the tiles before him. It was a little painful, but Keith’s cock was right before him in the palm of his hand. It was pink and flushed and leaned a little to the left. Lance couldn’t wait to have it in his mouth and so, he slipped the tip in between his lips, sucking at it. With his hand, he pulled back Keith’s foreskin, tracing his tongue along the slit.

Slowly, he began to move his head up and down. Keith groaned above him and tugged at Lance’s hair. Lance felt saliva drool out of his mouth and he felt sloppy; that was exactly how he liked it. Keith seemed to like it, too, if his moans and how his thigh tensed underneath Lance’s palm were any indication. The sounds echoed in the bathroom and made Lance throb.

Keith pushed back Lance’s fringe and scratched at his scalp. He looked directly up at Keith as he slurped and sucked, and began to palm himself, too. The sight was too erotic. He moaned around Keith’s cock as the crowd began to chant outside of the bathroom.

_10, 9, 8, 7--_

“You feel so good,” groaned Keith, “You’re so good, Lance.”

Lance pulled off and lopsidedly grinned up at Keith. He licked at Keith’s leaking cock, laughing playfully and sated.

_6, 5, 4--_

He continued to palm himself, too, before reaching down his jeans and tugging at his own leaking cock. He sucked and swallowed and moaned, feeling filthy and beautiful.

_3, 2, 1--_

Keith arched his spine and gritted his teeth, tugging at Lance’s hair to pull him off. He spilled over Lance’s open mouth, hot and heavy and shaking all over. His cheeks were flushed. The sheer gorgeousness of the sight of Keith panting above him was all Lance needed to come over his own fingers. He bit his lip and moaned Keith’s name.

Lance rested his forehead against Keith’s hipbone, enjoying the feeling of Keith carding his fingers through his hair.

“Happy new year, baby,” he said after a moment, still breathless His lips were surely swollen and red, traces of white mixed with saliva. He felt beautiful; all sexy and sweet. He stuck his tongue out and licked the rim, winking up at Keith.

“God,” wheezed Keith, “Come here, gotta kiss you-- fuck.”

Lance could feel Keith’s smile on his lips when they pressed their mouths together, only tongues and teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> january's gonna be added soon but i'm rlly proud of this bit so i wanted to publish it rn ahhhhh
> 
> the rating may go up (cause c'mon, it wouldn't be my work without some porn) in the next update!  
> i think i might make a sfw 'twin' of this fic what do yall think of that? i know some people are uncomfortable with R18 content...
> 
> if you have any naughty requests hmu in the comments or on my tumblr @reminscees

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: @reminscees


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